


This is How We Learn to Love

by cloakoflevitation



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Dark Sides As Family (Sanders Sides), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Light Sides As Family (Sanders Sides), Misunderstandings, No Beta – Two Years Writing This Made Me the Beta, Post-Episode: Dealing with INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, Sides As Family (Sanders Sides)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloakoflevitation/pseuds/cloakoflevitation
Summary: This is a sides-becoming-a-family fic, but it takes some work to get there. Set not long after Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts. POVs from everyone. Angst and comfort for everyone.***Warnings: Swearing. I think that's it? But let me know if you see something and want it tagged |-/
Comments: 121
Kudos: 105





	1. A Beginning and Janus Angst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [masterofmyfate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterofmyfate/gifts), [ConsultingCompanion94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingCompanion94/gifts), [Jo_Castle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_Castle/gifts).



> @masterofmyfate, @ConsultingCompanion94, and @Jo_Castle – thanks for leaving me such kind comments on some of my other stuff!! I would die for y'all
> 
> @ everyone reading this – I feel like the same handful of people seem to read my stuff, and y'all are all near and dear to my heart, and this fic has been a while in the making and it's also near and dear to my heart. so in spirit, this is dedicated to all of y'all. I definitely recognize usernames and seeing the same people read my stuff over time makes me catch feelings. I see y'all and I love y'all <3 <3 <3

When Logan stepped into the kitchen, he found Roman and Remus seated at the table across from each other. Both had their arms crossed as they glared over the tabletop, their mouths drawn into twin frowns.

“Good morning, Logan,” Roman said with an edge, not looking away from Remus for a second.

Logan glanced uneasily between them. “Salutations, Roman.” A pause. “Remus.” He waited. He wasn’t certain what he expected to happen, but he was expecting a little bit more than nothing. “Do you… require assistance?”

“No,” Remus said in a sweet voice (which sent alarm bells ringing in Logan’s mind), while Roman just grunted.

Logan clicked his tongue. “…Right.” It seemed likely something unpleasant was slowly forming, but there didn’t seem to be much more that he could do, so he stepped towards the cabinets. Two days ago, he had switched from coffee to chai tea, and he had been recording the effects of the reduced caffeine intake.

Pulling the tea and the milk from the fridge, he grabbed a mug and listened attentively for any conversation between the other two. There was nothing.

He poured the tea and then the milk, remembering how Virgil had teased him that pre-prepared tea was apparently ‘cheating.’ _Well,_ he huffed to himself, the memory making him self-righteous all over again, he had _tried_ to brew the tea himself. But it never seemed to turn out quite like it should. It kept tasting burnt somehow, despite being flavored _water._ After his fourth attempt, he had given in and used the kind that came already as a liquid. Perhaps when he had time, he would try to learn the art of steeping tea. Virgil, after all, had been kind enough to provide him with the name of someone he claimed was a ‘master’: a certain ‘General Iroh.’

Adding some ice and stirring everything together with a spoon, he listened again for the sounds of an argument between Roman or Remus. Still nothing. He had been attempting to eavesdrop subtly, but now he looked back at them and openly stared, unfortunately finding no clues as to what was going on. They were still sitting and glaring.

He decided to stand in the doorway and simply wait. Something would happen eventually. Neither Roman or Remus had much in the way of patience.

As Logan sipped his tea, he mentally started writing his next entry for his tea experiment. _August 29, 2018. Thursday._ He flipped over his wrist and glanced down at his watch. _4:16 pm. Purple mug. 120 mL of tea, 100 mL of milk._ He’d have to do the calculations later to see how long between cups of tea he seemed to be going.

When he could see the bottom of the mug through what little of his tea remained, he heard someone call for Remus from somewhere up the stairs. He was almost certain it was Deceit, and he was proved right when the side came down.

“Ah,” Deceit paused before taking a seat at the table, making a show of pulling out a chair as he addressed Remus. “I had wondered what was taking you so long.”

Remus glanced at Deceit and leaned back in his chair, mirroring his relaxed posture. “I found my _dear_ little brother.”

Roman’s jaw clenched. (And Logan thought he ought to speak with him later, because that really wasn’t a good habit.) “I’m older than you.”

“It’s not about _age.”_

Now it seemed Roman was grinding his teeth. (Another bad habit.)

“Well,” Logan said suddenly, deciding an intervention was necessary, “Now that you’ve settled that…” He gestured vaguely at them all, “Perhaps we should continue about our activities for the day.”

“Oh but the _fun_ is just beginning.” Even as he said the words, however, Deceit was pushing his chair back and standing up. He looked at Remus, waiting.

After an expectant pause and no movement from Remus, Roman slammed his palms onto the table. “What are you doing here? Tell me!”

“I didn’t answer the first twelve times you asked,” Remus taunted, “But clearly the thirteenth time is different.”

“You have no right to be here –”

“No right?” Deceit repeated, his eyebrows crawling up his forehead. 

He was ignored as Remus sniped back at Roman, “Me being here annoys you, and that’s my sole purpose for living. So it looks like I have every right.”

At the same time, Roman continued his original thought, raising his voice over the others, “– in this half of the Mindscape! It’s _our_ space!”

“Hey kiddos,” Patton caught their attention, startling Logan and by the looks of it, the others as well. Logan hadn’t noticed him walk in from wherever he was before. “Everything okay?”

Everyone stared at Patton for no more than a second before Deceit turned back to Roman and demanded, _“Your_ space?” with more than a tinge of anger.

Roman jumped to his feet and held his arms out, causing Remus to stand as well. “I don’t see your name around here anywhere!”

“I don’t see _yours_ either!”

“Look. You– ” Roman made a gesture that encompassed both Deceit and Remus, “ –have your part of the Mindscape and we have ours. So just stick to the dark side.”

“I heard the dark side has cookies.” Everyone turned to Patton in various levels of irritation. Logan himself was faintly amused. (Privately, of course.)

“They don’t.”

Patton turned around, a bright grin on his face. “Virgil! I didn’t hear you come down!”

Virgil shuffled forwards until he was standing next to Patton and then crossed his arms. “I didn’t.” His gaze narrowed on Roman and Deceit and Remus. _“Someone_ summoned me.”

Roman looked sheepish, but Deceit just flipped him off. Remus blew him a kiss, throwing in a wink for good measure.

“Hey,” Virgil demanded, snapping his fingers impatiently. “I have things to do and places to be besides here. Let’s get this over with so I can leave.”

“Well…” Remus drawled. “It all started when I was playing hide and seek with my favorite snake. I came down for a knife and –”

Remus abruptly cut himself off as one of his hands flew up to cover his mouth. He looked surprised for half a second before he made some rather rude gestures with his free hand in Deceit’s direction.

“Roman is upset Remus was in here.” At the blank, shocked expressions Patton and Roman were giving him, Deceit sighed and grumbled, “Oh, like you would have done any different if you could.” However, Remus’s hand dropped away from his mouth.

Logan grimaced. He despised being on the receiving end of being silenced by Deceit.

Virgil and Patton both looked like they were getting worked up, so Logan stepped in. This was quickly becoming less of a little spat and more of a complete disaster, and he really would rather they avoid that. “Alright, fine. Roman, we will work out a schedule or something.” (And yes, perhaps the ‘or something’ was a bit petulant, but he thought the situation had earned it.) “Then you and Remus can avoid each other in the kitchen.”

“Avoid?” Roman placed his hands on his hips. “They shouldn’t _be_ here.”

Deceit sucked in a sharp breath that was almost certainly a precursor to a very loud and very violent argument, but before he could, Remus summoned his morning star. Everyone flinched back, Roman and Deceit both tripping over their chairs as they did so. Roman summoned his katana, but it was Virgil that stopped everyone cold. **“Hey! Enough!”**

Logan gave Virgil a look and politely cleared his throat. The shadows that had crept across the room receded somewhat back into the corners.

Virgil’s voice had lost the dark undertones when he spoke again: “Remus. Use your words.”

“If Roman isn’t going to play by the rules, then why should I?” Remus demanded hotly, before withering under Deceit’s glare. His morning star disappeared and he crossed his arms. “I thought,” he said rather sulkily, “If Roman was ignoring the rules then I would use the _old-fashioned_ ones.”

Virgil gave him an unimpressed look. “What, like a duel? You were going to fight him to the death for the rights to the kitchen?”

“Yes. I was,” Remus sniffed, unapologetically unashamed.

Roman’s katana disappeared. “Well, I would have won.”

“Would not.”

“Would so.”

“Alrighty there, kiddos!” Patton preemptively cut the developing back-and-forth off, much to Logan’s relief. “What’re these rules you say Roman is ignoring? How can we fix this?”

Roman ran a hand through his hair. “There is no ‘fixing’ this! There’s nothing to fix! They shouldn’t be in our half!”

“Stop calling it that! It’s our half now too!” Deceit immediately shot back.

“Oh really? And how do you figure that?”

Deceit gave Roman a funny look. “Thomas knows about us now,” he said slowly, “So our rooms moved to this half.”

“Yeah right.” Roman rolled his eyes but was met with silence. Deceit continued to stare at him, waiting. Roman paled. “You - you’re lying. That’s not true!” He looked at Logan and Patton and Virgil desperately, as if they could disprove Deceit.

“He’s telling the truth,” Virgil said cautiously, looking at Roman, confused. “Their rooms are next to mine, down the hall. How could you _not_ have noticed?”

“Oh,” Patton breathed, barely a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t notice either.”

Suddenly everyone turned to Logan, and he fought the urge to shrink back from them. He shook his head slightly, too shocked to string together an adequate response verbally. He hadn’t noticed either, and the fact that he was able to be so unobservant made his skin itch.

Deceit’s eyes were wide and there was something fearful in his expression. “How - how could none of you notice? How could none of you know?”

Logan’s brain switched back online, following what Deceit was implying. “Wait. How long has Thomas known about _you_ now? How long has _your_ room been here?” Thomas had only known about Remus for a few days. But he had known about Deceit for… far longer.

“Months,” Patton murmured, answering Logan’s question. “How could we miss this?”

Roman’s head whipped around, and he looked between all of them, his mouth opening and falling closed several times before he finally settled on, “What’s happening?”

“Y’all didn’t know about the rules,” Remus said dumbly, before glancing at Deceit, repeating in monotone, “They didn’t know about the rules.” 

The way Remus said it implied he found it unfathomable that they didn’t know. The whole thing was making Logan feel queasy.

 _“No,_ this doesn’t-” Deceit blinked, staring at nothing for a second. He slowly turned his gaze to Roman. “Why…” He pressed his lips together, almost looking afraid. “Why do you call us the dark sides?”

Roman ran his fingers through his hair like he was trying to tear it out. “What does that have to do with _this?_ We’re having a crisis!”

Deceit abruptly disappeared between one moment and the next.

“Oh ho,” Remus grinned, bitter and gleeful and horrifying. “I think _he’s_ having a crisis.” 

All at once, Logan felt panic constricting his throat at the same time that Patton let out a muffled scream because _Remus’s hand spontaneously caught fire._

Remus looked down, seemingly unbothered, as though his limbs frequently burst into flames. “Oh. I’m having a crisis too.” For just a moment, his expression cracked, revealing something terrified and frantic. “This is _bad.”_ But then, just as soon as it was there, it was gone, and Remus looked faintly amused as he raised his hand, turning it over and inspecting it. His eyes flickered over to Virgil, and he crooned, “Ten bucks says you’re next,” before extinguishing the fire and disappearing as Deceit had.

Patton suddenly started to move, taking aborted, half-steps – towards the kitchen, towards the staircase, towards the hall. “We need – his hand – he’ll be burned –” His jerky movements made him look like a wind-up toy that was losing its energy.

“He’ll be fine,” Roman placated, though it seemed like absent reassurance, if the confused look on his face was anything to go by. “He can’t – it doesn’t hurt him.”

_Had it happened before? How did Roman know it wouldn’t hurt him?_

Logan took a deep breath and made himself look at the others, not wanting to fall into contemplation on everything that was happening. If he got lost in his thoughts, it would be far too easy to spiral. 

He grew concerned as he saw Virgil’s breathing start to pick up. His hands started to fidget with the ends of his sleeves, and Logan could see he was growing anxious (that is to say, more so than usual). He walked over and started to lay a hand on his shoulder only for Virgil to jerk away. The word, “Don’t,” was hissed at him, and he was surprised at the venom behind it.

“Virgil,” Roman said carefully, his arm twitching as if he too thought to reach out but stopped himself before he started. “What did Remus mean? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Virgil ducked his head, and it took Logan a moment to place the sound he was hearing. Virgil was _laughing._ Or cackling, rather. A horrible sort of mirthless mockery that Logan couldn’t remember Virgil making for quite some time now.

“You - _Princey_ ,” Virgil drawled, lifting up his head so they could all see how concerningly hysterical he was. “I thought -” He cut himself off with a serrated grin. Logan hardly recognized him with the expression. “It doesn’t matter. I know better now.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Patton pleaded, sounding close to tears. “Virgil, what’s going _on?”_

“Absolutely nothing you need to be concerned about,” Virgil snapped back, a hard, waspish edge in his voice, only made worse by his cheshire grin. And then he too, like Remus and Deceit before him, disappeared.

The remaining three exchanged wide-eyed, panicked looks.

“Well. Ah. That.” Logan grasped desperately at something to say before finally stammering out, “Fuck.”

“Indeed,” Patton agreed in a low voice, making Roman gasp.

“Padre, I didn’t think you-”

 _“Not,”_ Logan gave Roman a pointed look, _“the time.”_

“Of course, right. Okay, okay, okay,” Roman mumbled under his breath as he turned in a full circle, threading his fingers through his hair. He stopped when he was facing them again. “What are we going to do?”

The helplessness in Roman’s voice made Logan’s heart sink (metaphorically). He too, was at a loss. “I… do not know.” He turned from Roman to Patton. “I am… afraid.”

* * *

It felt as though someone had dropped him over the side of a tall cliff. Or as if someone had reached inside his chest, grabbed his heart, and _squeezed._

There had always been a sort of animosity between the sides. Living inside someone’s mind with only each other for company would do that. But Janus hadn’t minded. Because behind the banter and the barbs and the arguments, they were all there for the same purpose. They _wanted_ the same thing. They wanted the best for Thomas.

In their own ways, with their own constraints and plans and ideas, they were trying to help Thomas. Representing different aspects certainly made them butt heads more often than not, but at the end of the day, it had never really and truly mattered.

Until now.

He had thought, foolishly, naively, that the distinction between the sides, the whole childish notion of the ‘light’ sides and the ‘dark’ ones, was simply one more nickname or insult (depending on the day and the tone of voice) in an already long list. He had thought they were called ‘dark,’ only because Thomas didn’t know about them. Because they were influencing things from the shadows, unknown, and often unwanted. 

And it made sense, at least to him, anyway. The rules of the Mindscape separated what Thomas knew from what he didn’t. The things he was hiding from himself, lying to himself about, those fell into the ‘dark’ side, away from Thomas’s purview. And the things he did know about were in the ‘light’ side. And that was the way it worked. It was the way it had always been, ever since Janus had existed.

But neither Patton nor Roman nor Logan seemed to have any idea about the mechanics of the Mindscape. They had been surprised when they were talking about the room changes (and Janus couldn’t help but wonder what they had originally thought when Virgil’s room had appeared in the light side).

But their confusion wouldn’t have mattered, except… 

If they hadn’t been calling the others 'dark sides’ because Thomas didn’t know about them, then where had that nickname come from?

It was an easy guess.

It was one thing to take part in the banter and the name-calling, but it was another, unbearable thing altogether, to do it _without_ the undercurrent of good humor. Janus had often been called a villain, but he hadn’t minded when he thought he was being cast as the antagonist to _another side._ The thought of the others thinking he was a villain to _Thomas,_ a bad and evil and _dark_ force against _him,_ that burned.

He existed solely because of Thomas. All he wanted was to keep him _safe,_ to encourage Thomas to look out for himself.

A sob threatened to crawl its way out of his throat, but he swallowed it down. Nausea churned in his stomach as he realized it might not be only the others who thought him capable of such horrible things: Thomas himself might think the same.

His heart cracked all at once, the way a dropped ceramic plate would shatter. Heartache seemed like something that would be more in Patton’s wheelhouse than his own, but he was certain heartache was what he felt. There was no more miserable feeling in all the world.

A few stray tears dripped down his cheeks, and he roughly wiped them away.

 _Damn it all,_ he didn’t want to care nearly as much as he did. But somehow he had _never_ imagined that the others wouldn’t see that he wanted the best for Thomas. That they _all_ wanted that, despite going about it in different ways.

Disappointment and regret swelled in his chest. He forced himself to pull it together, at least somewhat. Spiraling into a dysfunctional wreck wouldn’t help him now. 

In his room, he threw off his hat, and tore off his gloves and cape, uncomfortable in them now. _You’re not a villain,_ he told himself firmly, knowing he was acting childish. He knew taking off the pieces of his attire wouldn’t change anything. One of his hands came up to his face to trace his scales. For a moment, he dug his fingers into his cheek, as if to tear the scales off, before he forced himself to relax and let his hand fall back to his side.

Remus and Virgil would have realized the implications by now, as he had. They would have put the pieces together from what happened in the kitchen.

He took a step towards the door before thinking better of it; he didn’t want to run into one of the others in the hallway. So instead, he disappeared out of his room, appearing in Virgil’s.

Virgil was sitting on the edge of his bed, frowning slightly and staring at nothing. He blinked when Janus stepped in front of him and then mumbled, “Been wondering when you’d show up.”

He felt his emotions threaten to drown him again. It had been a long time since he and Virgil’s relationship was in a place that allowed them to simply ‘show up’ in each other’s rooms. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Virgil pointed at his desk by way of explanation.

Janus glanced over his shoulder, only to do a double-take when he realized what he was seeing. The chair had been pushed away, and Remus was sitting curled up underneath the desk. Something was draped around his shoulders - a blanket? - and it was covered in what looked to be a pattern of… potatoes. Remus was wedged in pretty good with his knees pulled to his chest. The muscles in his face twitched every second or two, and his eyes aimlessly shifted, looking but not seeing the wood panel in front of him on the underside of the desk. It almost looked like he was carrying on a conversation inside his head with himself.

“He’s been here for about ten minutes,” Virgil said, drawing Janus’s attention back. “He conjured that blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders and crawled under there. I don’t think he wants to talk. Guess he just wanted the company.” Virgil shrugged and frowned with a look that said, _I don’t blame him._ “What about you?”

Janus crossed his arms defensively, and he wasn’t even really sure why. His hands touched the skin of his bare arms, making him remember that he had taken off his cape. He felt naked without it and was so distracted that he barely registered Virgil’s questions.

“Are you here to talk or just for the company too?”

He made a noncommittal noise as he looked for something so he wouldn’t be standing in only his black t-shirt. Something was thrown towards him and he caught it instinctively. Holding it up, he realized it was a sweatshirt. His gaze found Virgil’s.

Virgil shuffled backwards towards one side of the bed until his back hit the wall. He tilted his head in an invitation.

Janus pulled the sweatshirt on over his head, carefully, to avoid pulling any of the uneven stitches that were holding the spiderweb-patterned patches onto the black fabric. He stubbornly did not think about the fact that Virgil had been able to read him like a book. Without a word being said, he had known Janus felt uncomfortable and offered him a sweatshirt. 

Something inside him squeezed a little, in a good way.

He crawled onto the bed and curled up at the opposite end from Virgil.

“I still can’t really believe it,” Virgil said flatly, devoid of any inflection. “I could tell, after I came to this side of the Mindscape. With the others. It was obvious there were things they didn’t know, about how things work, how _we_ work. They were so clueless about some things it was almost funny.” There was no trace of humor in his voice. “And I couldn’t tell them, of course.”

Janus heard the unspoken words: _I couldn’t tell them because of you._

He turned his head to see Virgil was looking at him. His shoulders rose defensively, scrunching the comforter where he was laying against it on his side. “It’s not like I meant to stop you,” he snapped. It came out far harsher than he intended, so he tried to soften his tone. “I wasn’t trying to make you keep silent. You know how it is. If Thomas doesn’t want to know something then I _can’t_ let anyone who knows tell anyone who doesn’t.”

Sometimes Janus hated his job. Keeping things from Thomas, keeping things from the others, stopping them from telling each other things… it could be unpleasant.

Virgil looked away, not quite hiding his wince. “I know.” He sighed, quiet for long enough that Janus turned his head back, his cheek pressed to the bed. “I just never thought… It makes so much sense now.” There was a bitter undertone to Virgil’s voice. “They were – they _hated_ me when I was first pulled over here. They couldn’t stand me. Didn’t want me around, didn’t want my ideas, didn’t want anything to do with me. And I thought it was because I was always ruining their _fun._ I didn’t want Thomas to go out or talk to people or do much of anything. I just wanted to keep him home and keep him… safe. But it makes so much sense now. They really thought that I was trying to… to _hurt_ him.”

Janus sat up before he noticed what he was doing. Virgil was staring at the floor or the edge of the bed, not meeting his eyes, and looking suspiciously close to crying.

_Oh._

Virgil had been accepted by the others, and Janus had sort of assumed that fact would have negated all this, that Virgil would have handled this better than Remus or himself. But it didn’t seem to be the case. This seemed to matter a great deal to Virgil, and Janus could hardly blame him.

Emotion slowly closed off his throat as he looked for some kind of response. What he finally landed on was a grim, “Well, at least now we know.”

The edges of Virgil’s mouth pulled up slightly at the word ‘we’.

Remus suddenly, unexpectedly (at least to Janus, who hadn’t seen him) climbed over the footboard of the bed, landing with one of his legs thrown across Janus’s knees. One end of his blanket was tangled up underneath him and a corner of the other end was hanging off Janus’s shoulder. Janus delicately picked it up with a thumb and forefinger and removed it from his person.

From where he was lying, looking at Virgil with his head tilted back, upside down, Remus asked, “What now?”

Janus didn’t have an answer, and neither did Virgil.

The silence must have carried on for too long though, because Remus started mumbling, “It’s not fair.” He said it once, and after a second, repeated it. Then it seemed he couldn’t stop. The words spilled out of his mouth in an endless loop as his eyes grew as round as silver dollars.

Janus leaned forward, slightly over him, into Remus’s line of sight. He pointed at his necklace and leaned back when Remus put the squishy lego pendant into his mouth. The words stopped.

One of Remus’s hands reached out and flailed until he grabbed Janus’s arm. He patted it once, twice, and then grabbed a handful of the fabric of his – Virgil’s – the borrowed sweatshirt – and just held on.

Remus held up his free hand and snapped his fingers, making sure he had their attention, before closing his hand into a fist. He drew a circle with it on his chest. “Sorry,” he signed with the pendant still in his mouth.

“S’okay,” Virgil said back, aloud, “You’re right. It’s _not_ fair.”

Janus wondered how much Virgil remembered from his time on the other side with them. How many of their shared experiences he remembered. How many of their quirks and behaviors he had forgotten. How many disasters and fights and new habits and changes he had never gotten the _chance_ to remember or forget. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time in a while that Janus wished Virgil hadn’t left.

But it couldn’t be helped. And they were all on the same side of the Mindscape once more.

“The lego brick is new. Last time I saw you use a chew stim, you had that horrible ring one.” Virgil’s nose scrunched up, and Janus resisted the urge to do the same thing as he thought about how ugly the color had been. Remus, of course, had adored the putrid shade. 

“Patton gave me a fidget cube,” Virgil continued, something strained in his voice. “I’ll have to show you. I bet you’d like it.”

Janus was surprised to find Virgil’s gaze focused on the grip Remus had on his sleeve and where Remus’s legs were still thrown across his lap. Virgil’s fingers ever so slightly twitched.

 _Ah._ The pieces suddenly slotted into place in Janus’s mind. He remembered Virgil’s fondness for being held.

“Come here,” Janus waved him over. If Virgil could let them into his room and look after them while the world as they thought they knew it shifted beneath their feet, it only seemed right that they return the favor.

“Why?” Even as he asked it, Virgil edged closer. He didn’t have to move far to be within Remus’s reach, and once he was, Remus grabbed his arm and yanked. Virgil tumbled towards him, landing mostly on top of Remus in a tangle of limbs. “Oof.”

Janus flicked Remus’s ear because that was decidedly _not_ what he had in mind when he motioned Virgil over, but Remus didn’t seem bothered. He wormed his way out from under Virgil and rolled him onto Janus. Both started to protest, but Remus pointedly ignored them and curled up on Janus’s other side.

Sighing loudly for Remus’s benefit, Janus grumbled, “Why are you like this?”

Janus was expecting to be ignored, or get a snarky, half-applicable response like, _Go big or go home._ Instead, Remus rolled his head over to look at him and pulled his lego stim out of his mouth. “I’m sad,” he whispered, giving Janus the world’s worst impression of puppy dog eyes.

It was meant as a joke, but the words still tugged at Janus’s heartstrings. Remus wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, or really communicating at all for that matter, but Janus knew he was hurting, same as Virgil and himself.

Remus grabbed onto him again, and Janus made no move to stop him.

“Blanket,” Virgil whispered. “Remus. Blanket.”

A blanket settled over them.

“Pillow.”

Janus hummed, poking Remus once. “Me too.”

“You’re so needy,” Remus whined, but nonetheless, they were suddenly surrounded by pillows.

Janus grumbled under his breath, “Says the one who draped himself across _us.”_

“You say something?” Remus asked far too innocently, in a way that promised something bad.

“He didn’t,” Virgil answered before Janus could. “Get the lights, huh?”

Remus groaned but the lights dimmed.

Janus felt Virgil carefully inch closer to him, pressing their sides together. Virgil’s fingers barely brushed the edge of Janus’s sleeve in a bid to hold on to him.

He turned a bit, to let Virgil get closer, but Virgil seemed to stop breathing. He yanked his hand back, watching Janus, frozen like a deer in headlights.

After several long moments, Virgil slowly crept closer again. As light as a feather and slower than dripping tar, he pressed himself to Janus’s side, looking like he was waiting to be shoved away at any moment.

 _What a fucking mess,_ Janus thought, holding himself carefully still so he didn’t startle Virgil away again. “Looks like we’re gonna have to call a truce,” he said quietly. “Just like the good old days. Us against the world.” _Us against the light sides._

“Just like the good old days?” Virgil repeated with an emotion Janus couldn’t quite place. A tinge of worry clouded the back of his mind. It only grew as Virgil continued darkly, “Well I suppose having an archenemy fits into my aesthetic better anyway. Who needs _friends?”_

“Well, I didn’t exactly mean -”

“Tomorrow, it’s all-out war.”

Surprised at Virgil’s words, Janus glanced uncertainly at Remus.

“Tomorrow I’m gonna kick my brother’s ass.”

Feeling his soul descend to the sixth circle of hell, Janus just sighed. He didn’t know why he even bothered.

This was clearly a bad idea. A spectacularly terrible one. He gave in anyway.

“Fine. Tomorrow we start a fight.”

“Finish a fight,” Virgil corrected him.

Remus, apparently not wanting to be outdone, added, “Win the war!”

Janus groaned. “Just let me have this, okay? Just this one moment. You had your dramatic lines, this one is mine.” Receiving no more commentary, he repeated, “Tomorrow we start a fight.” 

After a second, he groaned again. “It’s no good. We’ve lost all the drama now. Moment’s gone.”

Remus lazily patted the general area of his left knee. “There there.” Janus forced himself not to take it in a condescending way (which was quite the feat of mental gymnastics).

He knew, of course, that waging war on the others was one of the worst ideas for dealing with… everything… that was happening. Remus and Virgil, being who they were, being _what_ they were, were both pretty rash sometimes. Remus was practically impulsiveness personified, and Virgil was fight or flight (and it seemed he had chosen fight this time). Of the three of them, Janus had always been the one to step back and pause, to come up with a plan, to spin a story and push chess pieces around without being noticed. He knew he should at least _try_ to corral the other two.

But he didn’t _want_ to talk them down. They were upset, and he was too. They were angry and hurt and scared and miserable - and misery loves company. Part of him wanted to give in and make Patton and Roman and Logan feel even just a little of how he felt. 

And yet - doing that would only prove everything the others thought about him. That he really was all bad. And he wouldn’t care, _shouldn’t_ care except… he still longed for their acceptance, for their approval, for the _friendship_ he had mistakenly believed that they had.

His head hurt from all the thinking and all the feelings.

Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe he’d wake up and this would all go away or resolve itself somehow. Maybe he’d have a good day. Maybe all this talk of war and fighting was just them blowing off steam.

_Lying to ourselves now are we?_

His eyes had drifted closed at some point in his brooding, and he opened them again. He could see Remus signing something next to him, finger spelling.

M-O-T-H-E-R-F-U-

 _Ah,_ he realized, Remus was spelling out swears. But, with the hint of a grin Remus had on his face, Janus couldn’t bring himself to say anything. As far as Remus’s antics went, this was so mild it barely registered. He turned his head the other direction to see Virgil. His head was tucked against Janus’s shoulder, eyes closed, and he looked so relaxed that Janus felt disgustingly warm and fuzzy inside. 

It was still quite possibly the worst day of his existence, but somehow with the other two next to him, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit better about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh I've been working on this for years (literally) and I'm so happy to have finally finished it and get to share it with y'all!!
> 
> also – there will be sign language (ASL) in this fic. I have some experience with ASL, but I'm by no means fluent. all ASL stuff will be written out using standard English, not gloss


	2. Space Gays?

“What in the - I mean, did you - what was _that?”_ Roman was practically vibrating. He looked between Patton and Logan, eyes wide as saucers. “Sure, we have our issues - a whole series worth of them!” His voice was too high and too breathy, and he felt like he might fall apart. “But things have never fallen to pieces this badly so fast before! What just happened?”

Tears welled up in Patton’s eyes. “They were so upset! Did you see them?”

Roman started to pace. “Yeah but _what_ upset them? They kept talking about rules and - and Virgil! I’ve never seen him take their side like that! He _hates_ them!” Roman froze mid step for half a second before continuing his pacing. “Oh _Norns._ If Virgil’s agreeing with them, something really bad must have happened. What did we _do?”_

Logan stepped in front of him, causing him to stumble. Logan caught his shoulders, giving him a firm look. “Roman-”

“Let go, Teach,” Roman pulled himself out of Logan’s grasp, pacing and running his hands through his hair. “I - I can’t - not now. I need -”

“We will figure this out,” Logan said in a low voice. He sounded so sure, so certain, that Roman almost believed him. Almost.

Patton fiddled with the ends of his cardigan. “Should we… go check on them?”

“I doubt our presence would be a comfort right now. Perhaps we should allow them some time.”

_“Some time?”_ Roman could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Logan, you do realize we’re talking about the Three Musketeers of Tragedy here, right?!”

“I think -”

“They’re Creators of Calamity! Designers of Disaster! Masterminds of Meltdowns and Mayhem!” He looked between Logan and Patton, begging them to understand. “We’ve got an impulsive anarchist, deception personified, and an anxious cynic!”

“Kiddo…” Patton was looking at him with pity, and it _burned._

His hysterical dramatics evaporated, leaving only an aching desperation behind. “They’re practically _made_ to overthink and twist reality and jump headfirst into bad decisions. The longer we wait, the more time they’re going to have to sabotage themselves.” He sucked in a breath that he couldn’t quite keep in his lungs. His voice cracked. “We _have_ to talk to them. We have to _fix_ this!”

Patton’s bottom lip wobbled, and Logan was quick to say, “You are correct. They may not currently want to see us, but there is clearly some great significance the others saw in what transpired. Because we can take no steps to rectify the situation until we understand what upset them, it is imperative we speak with them, sooner rather than later, as you pointed out. However,” Logan grimaced, “we will accomplish nothing if they refuse to see us.”

Roman’s heart sank.

“So what do we do?”

Patton’s question hung in the air as the three of them looked back and forth between each other.

Roman had no idea what they should do, only that they had to do _something._ Simply standing by and doing nothing was out of the question.

He felt like screaming at a wall, giving the Dragon Witch a good thrashing, and curling up into a ball to cry, all at the same time.

“Okay,” Patton murmured, giving the others a grim smile that looked out of place on him. “If this drags on past tonight, we talk with them tomorrow morning. Alright?”

“Agreed.”

Roman mumbled something along the lines of agreement. He watched numbly as Logan sank out, going _Odin_ knew where to do _Frigga_ knew what. It was irrational, but for a fleeting second he was furious with Logan for not caring more, for not showing what he was feeling.

Patton laid a single hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“We’ll be okay.”

Somehow he doubted it reassured either of them.

* * *

By the time he noticed he wasn’t alone downstairs, it was too late. Virgil had come down for – well, for something. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from the kitchen yet, but he’d figure it out when he got there. But now that he was there, standing in the doorway, he realized someone else was already over at the counter.

Before he could back away and sneak off, Logan turned around and their gazes caught, both equally surprised.

“Virgil,” Logan murmured his name, barely loud enough to hear. He looked down at the mug in his hands before looking back up. When he took a step forward, Virgil flinched.

He hadn’t meant to, but tensions were running high in the Mindscape at the moment, and he hadn’t thought anyone else was awake at this hour. Virgil wasn’t ready for another confrontation. He was still nursing a wounded heart, coming apart at the seams, and he had more than a few negative emotions he was trying to keep tightly locked up.

But it didn’t mean the injured look that crossed Logan’s face at his flinch went unnoticed.

“Here,” Logan said quietly, softly, and presented the mug he was cradling in his hands.

Virgil took it without a word. Standing frozen, watching Logan retreat back to the other side of the kitchen, he looked down to realize it was tea. It was chai tea - the same kind he had tried to help Logan learn to make earlier that week. And it was in the mug Roman had gotten Logan last Christmas that read, “Zero flux given,” with an accompanying magnetic field diagram.

He laced two of his fingers through the handle of the mug and looked back up at Logan.

Logan was standing in front of an open cabinet, reaching for a mug. His hand hovered in front of a black mug - Virgil’s mug - that read, “Hail to the pumpkin king,” before he settled on pulling down a plain navy-colored one.

Virgil watched in silence as Logan poured the tea and the milk and the ice. After several minutes of stirring, Logan finally turned back to face him.

“Thanks.” Virgil winced at how awkward he sounded. Logan looked at him blankly, and Virgil raised the mug in his hands slightly, to show why he was thanking him.

Logan offered him a tiny tired smile.

The silence hummed in Virgil’s ears, louder than it had any right to be. He took a sip of tea.

“About before…”

“No, that’s – I don’t – we don’t need – it’s fine.” Virgil stumbled over his words, trying to spit them out fast enough that Logan didn’t feel the need to say anything else on the topic. The absolute last thing he wanted was to have this discussion right now.

“I think -”

_“It’s fine.”_

Logan frowned but didn’t say anything more. He raised his mug to his mouth.

Virgil drank some tea.

Logan stirred his tea with his spoon. The metal scratched against the bottom of the ceramic mug, and they both winced. He stopped stirring and drank his tea.

Virgil sipped at his tea some more.

“The thing is -”

Virgil groaned, but Logan pressed on anyway.

_“The thing is,_ something clearly bothered all of you.”

He couldn’t help himself from bitterly interjecting, “That obvious, eh?”

Logan plunged bravely ahead, _“However,_ I believe you fail to realize that Patton, Roman, and myself are all figuratively in the dark. We have no idea what the point of contention was, exactly.”

Virgil blinked, a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He warily asked, “What?”

Setting down his mug, Logan sighed. “From what we could gather, there are …rules? Rules that govern ourselves and the Mindscape. Rules that we are apparently unaware of.”

Virgil nodded, both to indicate he was listening and that Logan was right.

“And it seems there was some kind of fundamental misunderstanding about how and why our rooms establish their locations.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t… that none of you understood.” Virgil absently shook his head, setting his mug on the counter, before realizing it left his hands empty. He shoved them into his pockets and gave a nominal grin. “It seemed – it was obvious. To us. To me anyway.” He looked past Logan, not seeing the stove and the microwave, but rather, looking through them into a space between worlds, slightly lost in his own mind. “I didn’t…” He shook his head again. “We were –” His breath caught, fingers digging into his palms, hands curled into fists in his pockets.

He didn’t know how to explain and he didn’t know if Logan would understand and he didn’t want to speak for Janus and Remus and what if Logan thought he was being oversensitive or what if Logan didn’t care or what if –

“Virgil.”

Horrified, he realized he had gotten sucked into his own private hell of worries, right in front of Logan.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t –” He was drowning in a vacuum of his own making. Choking on stuttering breaths, his mouth fell open without his permission. “I – I need –” _I need to leave._

He was making a fool of himself. There was no reason to cause a scene with Logan there as a witness. He needed to make a hasty retreat and find somewhere to curl up and calm down (or maybe just lay down and die).

He had barely taken half a step backward, and then Logan was in his personal space. He caught a brief glimpse of a rather determined expression on Logan’s face, and then he felt arms wrap about him.

_“Oh.”_ The word came out more as a breath than anything else.

“Is this permissible? There are numerous sources that cite human touch as having a positive psychological effect.”

“I, uh – yeah.” Hesitantly, Virgil brought his arms up to return Logan’s embrace. Logan was a bit stiff and a bit awkward, but he was warm. Closing his eyes, Virgil gave himself over to the distinctive comfort that comes from being held.

“You have my apologies. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He started to protest, but Logan applied pressure where his hands rested on his back, and Virgil fell silent.

“Just listen and count your breathing.” He paused, perhaps to make sure Virgil was doing as he asked or perhaps to gather his thoughts. “I do not intend to repeat the entirety of what was said in the kitchen earlier. I only wanted to be sure that you knew what I experienced. I had a suspicion that you did not realize how confusing everything was for Roman and Patton and myself.” He sighed, sounding nearly as tired as Virgil felt. “I am not attempting to absolve anyone of their faults in this latest fiasco, I only… I wanted…”

_Oh._ Virgil’s heart squeezed. He mumbled into Logan’s shoulder, “It’s that you don’t _understand,_ not that you don’t _care.”_

He could feel Logan’s muscles tense momentarily. After a moment, Logan let out a deep breath. “That is correct.”

He let go, and both sides stepped back, tinges of pink coloring their cheeks. (Both were infinitely thankful that the kitchen was as dim as it was at this hour of the morning.)

Logan cleared his throat. “I do.” Virgil made a confused-sounding ‘huh’, and Logan, in an uncertain voice, explained, “I do… care. About you.”

Virgil felt his cheeks heat up even more and firmly resisted the urge to shrink back and hide in his hoodie like the coward he was. “I, uh… you too. I mean – yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, mentally going through the five stages of grief.

_Well, that’s it,_ he thought wryly, _I can never speak to Logan again._

To his great relief, Logan didn’t say anything about the train wreck that had just come out of his mouth. Logan merely nodded once, and then picked up both their mugs and took them to the sink and began to wash them.

Because Logan had his back to him (and _only_ because he had his back to him), Virgil let the dorkiest, ditziest smile settle on his face. A vivid, hysterical happiness filled his chest and his lungs, and he was suddenly keenly aware what the phrase ‘so happy you could burst’ meant. It conflicted horribly with his lingering feelings of betrayal and anger and resentment and hurt at what had happened with everyone earlier, and he certainly was not ready to forgive and forget. But, standing in the kitchen with Logan in the early hours of the morning, everything he was upset about seemed less horrible somehow.

The overwhelming urge to throw himself at Logan and bear-hug him possessed him, and had he been anyone besides himself, he thought he would have done so. Instead, he asked, “See you tomorrow?”

Logan hummed, not turning around from the sink. “I believe Patton and Roman are going to be rather adamant about that, yes.”

Virgil was less than thrilled about that statement, but he shoved it away to stress about at a later time. For the moment, he was feeling better than normal, and nothing was going to interrupt that.

* * *

When Logan returned to his room, he made the following entry in one of his observational journals:

_[November 4, 2019, Monday] [2:47 am] - Virgil seemed overly anxious, so I embraced him in an effort to alleviate the undue stress. I now have witnessed and experienced firsthand that physical affection does in fact seem to inspire positive psychological reactions. Consider implementing more casual touches with the others?_

* * *

As Patton made his way down the stairs, he heard voices coming from the kitchen.

“All I’m saying,” – that was Deceit, sounding frustrated, – “is five minutes of compassion in the dark in the middle of the night doesn’t mean anything will change!”

_“You weren’t there!”_ Patton had to strain his hearing to pick up Virgil’s voice.

“You’re blinded by some naive need–”

_“Enough,”_ Remus cut him off harshly, and Patton gasped from where he was eavesdropping on the steps. He immediately threw a hand over his mouth, hoping the others hadn’t heard.

“I’d say Virgil knows the _Golden Trio_ better than we do.” Remus’s voice lost its edge and became more of a drawl. “So we’ll just wait and see what happens. We can always change our minds about all out war later. No sense in crying over something before it happens.”

There was silence. Patton couldn’t see them from where he was, so he slowly started to creep down the stairs to peek around the corner at the bottom.

“No matter what, I’m gonna pick a fight with Roman. I can talk to him and still kick his ass afterwards. That’s the beauty of –”

Remus abruptly stopped speaking as Patton stepped on the second to last stair and it creaked loudly.

The air shifted ever so slightly, and Patton felt someone grab the back of his shirt. The world disappeared and then reappeared, and he was pushed forwards, stumbling into the table, bracing himself with both palms flat on the surface. Blinking, he looked up to see Virgil and Deceit. Over his shoulder he found Remus, one hand holding his morning star and the other perched on his hip, looking uncannily similar to Roman (although Patton had the good sense not to mention that fact).

Patton felt a bit like he was being interrogated in a B movie cop film.

He resolutely ignored the way a shiver went down his spine at the feeling of Remus… _poofing_ him through the Mindscape like that. He wasn’t even aware they could drag other sides with them when they appeared and disappeared like that. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he could take the others with him when he rose up or sunk out.

“Looky who I found.”

Patton tried to ignore the glee in Remus’s voice.

“Spying on us, were you?” Deceit demanded tartly, eyes narrowed nearly to slits.

Patton edged away, towards the door, so Remus wasn’t at his back. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and worried with the ends of his cardigan. “Well I didn’t mean –”

“But ya were,” Remus interjected, rather unhelpfully. He didn’t look upset, per se (which was an improvement from Deceit); he looked relaxed and at least somewhat interested in what Patton was saying, but his eyes held a scary sharpness in them.

“But I was,” Patton admitted, echoing Remus’s words. “I’m sorry, kiddos.”

“Don’t you _dare –”_

Deceit was cut off by Roman, who rose up behind Patton, dressed only in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair standing on end, holding his katana. He blinked blearily at the rest of them and said something from which Patton could only understand the word ‘shouting’.

Deceit and Virgil both started yelling at the same time, first at Roman and then at each other. Roman started yelling incoherently, although Patton was unsure at who. Remus’s morning star disappeared, and he made wild gestures while yelling at the others.

Unsuccessfully, Patton tried to speak over them and ask that they use their inside voices. He also tried and failed to pry Roman’s katana from his hands.

When a very firm, “That is quite enough,” came from over his shoulder, Patton couldn’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief.

The others fell quiet, withering under Logan’s pointed glare. 

“What is the meaning of this?”

They all started talking again at once, and Deceit momentarily stole their voices. “Patton was eavesdropping,” he accused.

Logan turned to him, and Patton blushed, ashamed. “I’ve just been so worried,” he confessed, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “I heard them all talking and I stopped on the stairs and I – I didn’t really even think about what I was doing but one of the stairs is noisy and Remus brought me into the kitchen and then Roman showed up and the yelling started and now…” He took a deep breath, sheepishly grinning. “Here we are.”

“Ah.” Logan blinked and then turned back to Deceit. “Well. It seems he’s penitent.”

Remus snickered and started to say something, but both Virgil and Deceit elbowed him.

“And,” Logan continued, “Patton _does_ live here, as do you. He has a right to be here.” 

The words hung heavy in the air. From the looks on everyone’s faces, ranging from ashamed to troubled to outraged, it seemed they were all thinking of the same part of yesterday’s fighting.

_You have_ **_no right_ ** _to be here._

Logan winced. “Er… I only mean Patton can make use of the kitchen, the same as the rest of you,” he finished lamely.

Deceit drew himself up to his full height, spine perfectly straight. He was looking at Roman, and Patton wasn’t sure he had heard Logan’s last words at all. Deceit demanded, “Have you come to kick us out again?”

“Now wait a minute,” Roman shot back hotly. _“I_ wasn’t the one who started a fight.”

“You seemed quick enough to join in.”

“I just woke up so –”

“– it’s always excuses with you –”

“– excuse me for worrying when I heard a struggle –”

“The only struggle here is having a conversation with someone so dim-witted!”

“Oh good, we’ve already made it to the insults. I’m barely –”

“You started the insults! You started _all_ of this yesterday!”

“Wow, would you look at that? Is this Groundhog Day? I swear we’ve –”

“I can’t believe I ever thought you would change. How could the _light sides_ ever accept someone different from them?”

“– this exact conversation before.”

After listening to the crescendoing accusations, the silence that followed rang hauntingly in Patton’s ears.

“Virgil?” 

Remus‘s question drew everyone’s attention to their resident emo.

Virgil looked stricken, his eyes wide and haunted, as if he had just seen someone kick a puppy.

“Virgil…” Deceit murmured, looking apologetic for reasons Patton couldn’t name.

Remus pushed the others back and stepped in front of Virgil. He made a gesture with his hands, and it was only when Virgil made a different gesture back that Patton realized what it was: sign language.

Patton turned to the others, silently asking Roman and Logan if they understood what was being said. They both shook their heads.

He watched as Virgil looked to Deceit, waiting for the answer to a question Patton couldn’t understand. Deceit looked between Remus and Virgil and then nodded. Remus signed something else, at which Virgil nodded, and then both disappeared.

Deceit rounded on the remaining three then. “I hope you’re happy now,” he spat.

Roman bristled, but Logan laid a steadfast hand on his shoulder. “You must know that none of us are pleased with this outcome.”

Deceit deflated a little and looked away.

“I was unaware any of you knew sign language,” Logan offered into the tense silence. It was a peace offering, but it wasn’t accepted.

No trace of polite civility in his tone, Deceit scathingly replied, “I think you’ll find there’s a lot of things you are unaware of, _Logic.”_

Roman shrugged off Logan’s hand and frowned at Deceit. “That’s not fair and you know it. We’re trying to make this better.”

“Fair? _Fair?”_ Deceit repeated the word, fury practically rolling off him in waves. “Don’t you _dare_ lecture _me_ about fairness. You don’t – you can’t possibly fathom the depths of the unfairness I’ve endured. Do you have any idea what it’s like? Living beyond the edges of your perfect little bubble, with your perfect little trio of _light sides?”_

Deceit bared his teeth in a parody of a smile, and Patton stifled a shiver.

Deceit held his arms up on either side of him. “Imagine with me, for a moment, what it’s like to have your motives questioned at every turn, to have everything you do be twisted until it’s backlit by some ridiculous non-existent personal motive. _Nothing_ I say is taken as truth because I’m a _liar._ You’re all allowed to be more than your primary function and yet I’m always _only_ deceit. I’ve been forced to hide things from Thomas, hide the others, hide _myself,_ because _that’s my job_ and there’s nothing I can do to change that.And when Thomas finally meets me, I’m cast as some kind of selfish monster and _why?_ Because I want Thomas to look out for himself? Because I want him to take care of himself?"

Tears slowly filled Patton’s eyes as he listened to the raw emotion in Deceit’s voice.

“Do you have _any idea_ what it’s like to want to be different than you are?” Deceit laughed, broken and bitterly, and it almost sounded like sobs. “Can you imagine what it’s like, wanting to be _perfect?_ To be like _you?”_ He spat the words like they burned his tongue. “There were times I would have given _anything_ to be someone else - anyone else.” Tension filled the air as Deceit’s voice wavered. “You have no idea what I went through - what all of us went through - trying to figure out how we help Thomas. Trying to figure out why we weren’t _here.”_

Patton took half a step towards Deceit, only to freeze when Deceit flinched back as if he had been slapped.

Deceit’s bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. “Don’t talk to _me_ about fairness.” His voice caught and dropped to a whisper. “You don’t know anything about it.”

Patton promptly burst into tears, heart absolutely aching for Deceit and for Remus and Virgil and for Thomas and for all of them. Roman gathered him up, holding him tightly, but it did nothing to help ease the anguish he felt. Guilt burned through his mind, eating away at anything positive like acid.

_How could this have happened? How could things have gotten this bad?_

With his face shoved into Roman’s chest as he sobbed, he didn’t see Deceit disappear or Logan sink out.

Roman grabbed at Patton’s shirt, wrapping his arms tighter around him, and Patton thought through his own bawling he could hear Roman start to cry as well.

They didn’t let go of each other for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering what Janus was yelling at Virgil, it was _You’re blinded by some naive need **to be loved.**_
> 
> the irony, lmao
> 
> me? projecting onto Janus during his speech about _"do you know what it's like to want to be someone else – anyone else?"_ nah, absolutely not ...unless?


	3. Caring is a Mistake

Remus and Virgil appeared in Virgil’s room.

Virgil had that sad look again, the one that hadn’t seemed to have left his face since this whole mess started. _Poor sap._

Since he had left, Virgil had slowly grown attached to Patton and Logan and Roman. He’d gone all soft for the light sides, and now he _cared_ what they thought. 

_Gross._

Caring meant vulnerability. Caring was opening yourself up for rejection. Caring was _not_ a mistake Remus would be making.

He watched Virgil shuffle his feet and pull on the ends of his sleeves. Anxiety practically rolled off him in waves, not that Remus was surprised. (He was, after all, literally Anxiety.) Remus searched for something to say, careful to keep his posture relaxed so he didn’t add to the tension Virgil was already feeling. “It was too soon. Didn’t wait long enough. They’re still off their crackers.”

“Off their crackers?” Virgil repeated the phrase quietly.

“Mad as a hatter. Mad as _the_ Hatter.”

Virgil sighed and looked away. “That’s one way to put it.”

Remus was trying to remove the frown from Virgil’s face, but it wasn’t working. For a moment, he considered doing it literally, scalpel and all, before pushing that thought aside for later. He stepped into Virgil’s personal space, grinning lasciviously. “Chin up,” he crooned, tilting Virgil’s head up with a finger under his chin, immensely pleased with himself when color spread across Virgil’s cheeks. “They’ll come crawling back when they pull their heads out of their asses.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Virgil grumbled without heat, pulling away from Remus. He walked over to the table next to his bookshelf, waving a hand over the candles there. The flames flickered to life.

Remus watched the reflection of the fire in Virgil’s eyes, trying to think of something encouraging. He wanted to be helpful. “Sooner or later this’ll all be over. Perks of being a good guy and all that.”

“Am I?” Virgil asked numbly, holding a hand out, letting his fingers hover dangerously close to one of the lit wicks. Remus smothered a scream in his throat, itching to yank Virgil’s hand away, to push his hand closer, to put his own hands into the fire. Virgil continued in monotone, unaware of Remus’s inner turmoil, “Am I one of the good guys?”

Janus would have argued so. Or at least, Remus thought that’s what he’d say. Normally, that’s what he thought Virgil would say too (so long as he wasn’t in one of his self-destructive spirals, because then all bets were off). But Janus wasn’t here and Virgil _was_ in one of his self-destructive spirals, and Remus wasn’t good at feelings.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, not that Virgil saw it. “But you’re welcome to be my bad guy underling.”

Virgil stepped away from the candles, shaking his head. “I’d rather die, but thanks for the generous offer.”

Remus didn’t know what to say to that, so he just grinned lopsidedly.

Virgil watched him for a minute, and Remus could tell something was happening even if he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was.

After a while, the staring grew boring. So Remus mimed blowing out the candles, and with a little bit of concentration on his part, they snuffed out.

Virgil raised his eyebrows in challenge. He crossed his arms and pointedly tilted his head. The candles flickered back to life in sync with the motion. Usually Remus had a monopoly on manipulating their surroundings, but here in Virgil’s room, they were on more even footing. A crooked grin spread across Virgil’s face when Remus scowled.

Something warm bloomed in his chest. He liked the way Virgil looked at him like that, with sharp amusement, enough mischief in his expression to make the fondness tolerable.

_I did a good thing._

He promptly crushed that feeling, shivering slightly. How utterly disgusting, and _not_ in a good way. Caring is how you get hurt.

Remus snapped his fingers and the TV and his gamecube appeared.

Virgil shot him a curious look. “That’s not the TV from -”

“From downstairs?” Remus finished brightly. “Why yes it is!”

Virgil winced but picked up a controller. “What are we playing?”

“Double Dash. Dibs on Boo.” Remus plugged in the cords.

“Fuck off, I’m always King Boo.”

A grin curled at the corners of Remus’s mouth. He knew, of course, that Virgil was always Boo - he just liked getting a rise out of him. “Fine,” Remus sighed dramatically, flopping himself onto the floor next to where Virgil was sitting. “I suppose I can be Waluigi. After all, he _is_ drop dead gorgeous.”

Virgil handed him a controller. “Dude. Shut up.”

* * *

Logan walked past the door to his own room. The hallway grew slightly darker, as if Virgil’s door sucked the light out of the air (and perhaps it did, Logan really didn’t know). Just as Virgil and Deceit and Remus had said in the kitchen during the beginning of the whole debacle, there were two additional doors further down from Virgil’s. 

One was covered in what looked to be _years_ of layers of paint and drawings and posters, all plastered together in a sort of papier-mâché. Papers curled, edges peeking out, only to disappear under more paint. In the center was an octopus, spray painted over everything else in bright green. Logan had no idea what to make of it all, besides that it was decidedly Remus’s room.

On the other side of the hall, and closer to the direction of Virgil’s room, was what must have been Deceit’s room. The door was entirely black, save for a yellow question mark that looked remarkably similar to the logo of The Riddler (if Logan was remembering his pop culture references correctly). However, the fact that the question mark was done in yellow spray paint, remarkably similar to the octopus on the opposite door, made him think perhaps it had been Remus, rather than Deceit, who had put it there.

Logan forced himself to step in front of Deceit’s door and knock. He had spent far too long avoiding actually knocking under the guise of observing this end of the hallway.

After a moment, the door swung open. Deceit barely looked at him before he was snarling, “What more can you possibly want from me?”

Logan held up the box in his hands as a peace offering. From the cabinet downstairs, he had brought a puzzle.

Deceit looked between the puzzle box and Logan’s face, as if he couldn’t comprehend what was happening. His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion pinching his face.

“We don’t have to talk,” Logan offered.

Deceit opened his mouth and then shut it. He blinked. “You have a puzzle.”

“Yes. I do.” He waited for something else to be said, but nothing came. “Would you like to work the puzzle with me?”

“No.”

Pursing his lips, Logan lifted a hand to nudge his glasses further back up his nose. He had known it was a possibility that Deceit could refuse, but he had been hoping that he would be open to the activity.

Deceit frowned. “What do you want?” 

Logan started to answer but was cut off. 

“Are you here to make _friends?_ Have a bit of _quality time?_ I won’t fall for it. You would have been better trying a bribe.”

“A bribe?”

“I like sweets.”

Logan’s eyebrows inched farther up his forehead as he mentally catalogued the statement. This was certainly not the conversation he had expected to have when he knocked on Deceit’s door.

A tinge of blush kissed Deceit’s cheeks, as if he hadn’t meant to say what he did. He crossed his arms. “I’ve heard you bake,” he defended himself, almost daring Logan to deny it.

Logan didn’t say anything in response. He did in fact bake sometimes. Baking was very methodical; he enjoyed observing the chemical processes… and _maybe_ he had a bit of a sweet tooth too.

None of this was going as he had planned.

Not quite sure what to say next, Logan decided to try and explain himself. “I am actually not here to ‘make friends’,” he admitted gently, repeating Deceit’s earlier wording. “I came here to ah, mend bridges, as they say.” He shifted the puzzle box in his arms. “It would be naive to think all of the misunderstandings and grievances from the past years can be ignored. However, it would be beneficial if we were all able to speak civilly and collaborate with each other for Thomas’s wellbeing.”

Deceit blinked slowly, tilting his head. “And you thought the _puzzle_ would mend bridges?”

Logan started to think he should have just gone back to his own room and given up on the whole endeavor. “Er… yes.” He tried his best not to make it sound like a question.

“Are you serious?” Logan brought a hand up to his tie, but before he could say anything, Deceit made a dismissive motion, murmuring almost more to himself, “You’re always serious, serious people wear neckties.”

A noise that wasn’t really words but _was_ a question came from the back of Logan’s throat.

A hint of a smile teased at the corners of Deceit’s mouth. “You’re not the only one who makes observations, Logic.”

“Logan.”

The good humor seemed to immediately drain from Deceit’s expression, so Logan backtracked, “It is only a request – an offer, really. I am not - that is, you are under no obligation -”

Thankfully, Deceit seemed to understand what he was trying to say. The teasing smile returned. “Not the best at socializing, are you?”

“Ha,” Logan huffed the parody of a laugh, short and brittle. _“Surprising,_ I know.” When a chuckle escaped Deceit’s lips, Logan leaned forward slightly, conspiratorially admitting, “The others make me flashcards.”

“Oh?” Deceit prodded, eyes shining.

“They write modern slang and their meaning on them, for me to add to my vocabulary.”

Both laughed for a few minutes, and the hallway felt much less foreboding than it had before. Logan was suddenly struck by the realization that he hadn’t seen Deceit ever truly laugh.

When they had regained their composure, Logan rattled the box. A lovely, low, shuffling noise could be heard as the puzzle pieces were shaken. “I don’t suppose you would want to work this?”

Deceit gave him a curious look, searching for something. Then he drawled, “Alright, you’ve persuaded me. Please, step into my lair.” Deceit opened his door fully, taking a step backwards. The lights flickered off and he walked backwards until only his eyes were visible in the dim lighting.

The flair he gave to his words and the drama of his actions were entirely unnecessary. Logan resisted the urge to tell Deceit he was being ‘extra’ or ‘doing the most’.

“I will _not_ be walking around in the dark. The trip hazard alone is enormous.”

He heard a snap and then the lights flicked back on. Deceit was rolling his eyes. “Alright, Mr. OSHA Inspector, suck out all the drama, why don’t you. Nothing unsafe here.”

Walking over to a table, Logan set the puzzle box down on a bit of free space. He sniffed unapologetically, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Inspector,” Deceit bit back sarcastically with a two finger salute. It was a gesture Virgil often made. Logan started to ask if Deceit had picked it up from him, but a voice that sounded like Patton whispered that it might not be the best topic for conversation at the moment.

Instead, he turned his attention to everything else already covering the surface of the table. “I was unaware that you know how to sew.”

The table, sitting towards one side of the room, had a sewing machine on one end. There were two stacks of fabric and stray spools of thread and one lone empty bobbin dotting the surface. A black something was lying half draped over the arm of the machine.

Deceit picked up the sewing machine and set it on the floor. He pulled a square bin from under his bed and started sweeping the fabric and spools into it.

“That is a bee,” Logan stated, blinking as he realized there were pins and needles sticking out of the bee’s back.

“That’s a pin cushion.”

“Your pin cushion is a _bumblebee.”_ Logan started to pick it up, only for Deceit to snatch it off the table before he could reach it. It went into the bin with everything else.

Deceit shoved the bin back under his bed, and Logan followed him around the table, leaning over slightly to catch sight of other bins tucked under the bed as well. He couldn’t see in most of them, but he did notice a pair of knitting needles sticking out of one.

“You knit.” Somehow it came out as more of an accusation than anything else. Deceit’s expression quickly morphed into something guarded and angry, and Logan rushed to qualify, “I was unaware.” It seemed like there were a lot of things Logan didn’t know about Deceit. “It is all very ah… domestic.”

 _“Crafty,”_ Deceit corrected him, looking halfway to another yelling match. 

Logan backed away, going around to the other side of the table again. Now that the surface was clear, he dumped out all the puzzle pieces, slowly started to spread them out and turn them all right side up.

When Deceit grouched, “I’m _not_ domestic,” Logan was careful to keep his eyes on the puzzle pieces. In his peripheral vision, he saw Deceit come to stand at the other side of the table. “I’m _crafty._ Shrewd. Wily. Some might even say conniving.”

Logan wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a pun, or if Deceit didn’t realize that there were two meanings of the word crafty. With how testy Deceit was, though, he decided to let the matter lie.

After a moment, Deceit started to assist him in turning over the pieces.

“I was thinking we should start with the edges…”

* * *

Patton and Roman were the only ones in the kitchen, both miserably spooning cereal into their mouths. It had taken Roman a fair amount of convincing to get Patton to eat, but he knew how out of sorts Patton got without food.

 _Ah Padre._ Every time Patton’s eyes flickered to the other empty chairs at the table, Roman’s heart squeezed. He hoped whatever the others were doing, wherever they were in the Mindscape, they were calming down.

It was only yesterday that the whole fiasco had started, but it already seemed like it had been dragging on for the longest time. No matter what he did, the knowledge that they were all at odds with each other floated over Roman’s head like a raincloud in a cartoon. He aggressively shoveled some more cereal in his mouth, not even enjoying the marshmallows in it. It felt like no matter what he said, he only made things worse.

Maybe they were better off without him.

Patton sighed heavily. His spoon clinked against his bowl, and he slowly took it over to the sink. He turned back to Roman with a dismal frown.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Roman got up from the table, moving his bowl over to the counter. “It might take our minds off things.”

Moving slower than the passage of time during a school day, Patton pushed Roman’s chair in. He shook his head. “I think I’m going to lay down in my room.”

Part of Roman silently begged him, _Don’t leave me alone,_ but he only offered a tight smile. “Okay. I’ll be downstairs if you change your mind.”

Patton’s gaze fell to the floor and he nodded once before dragging himself through the doorway and up the stairs.

Roman closed his eyes for a long moment. He steeled his nerves. _I’m not going to cry._

He all but collapsed onto the sofa, turning on Toy Story with a snap of his fingers.

He faded in and out of his thoughts, never able to get lost in the movie. The songs and dialogue registered as a distant roaring in his ears. At some point, the movie must have ended because he found himself staring sightlessly at a blue screen. He had no idea how long he had been sitting motionless.

He knew he should get up, maybe take a page out of Patton’s book and lay down for a while, but his limbs felt too heavy to move. Maybe he’d get up in half an hour.

Somewhere behind him, he heard a noise in the kitchen. Patton must have come down, probably getting some more cereal. Maybe they could rewatch Toy Story. It had good music, and Roman hadn’t really absorbed anything from it just now anyway.

Thinking of _You’ve Got a Friend in Me,_ he promptly burst into tears.

“Oh Patton,” he moaned, lowering his head onto his knees. He tangled his fingers in his hair. “I don’t know what to _do._ I just want to make things better, but I think I’m just making everything worse.” At the edge of his mind, he heard the clatter of silverware from the kitchen. “I’m not - I don’t - ugh! I just _care._ A lot. And I don’t know what to do, but it hurts that I can’t fix this because I _want_ to fix it!”

He heard footsteps, but he couldn’t be bothered to sit up and make himself presentable. He wanted to wallow in his despair and misery a little longer. “We’ve got a terrible track record,” he choked out with something that was meant to be a laugh but was decidedly not. “Every time a new dark side shows up, we blow the relationship to smithereens before we even know each other’s names.” He was quiet for a minute, sniffling and pulling himself together a little. The sofa dipped as Patton sat down on the cushion next to his.

“It’s like…” He was whispering now, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, still bent over, head pressed to his knees, curled up like he could somehow protect himself from everything he was feeling. “They do the dumbest things sometimes. And I don’t understand why. I don’t understand _them._ Remus and Deceit and even Virgil - they get on my nerves and sometimes I think Virgil shoots down my ideas just because they’re mine. But I never wanted _this._ None of us did.” He swallowed back another sob. “It’s like we can’t even talk to each other. How are we meant to help Thomas if we can’t stand to be in the same room for more than five minutes?” He sat up, wiping his cheeks as he did. “I only wish-”

He jumped to his feet, backing away, eyes wide and petrified, “I’m sorry - I didn’t - Patton - I didn’t - I’m sorry I’m sorry _I’m sorry.”_

The side that had come down to the kitchen - the side that sat and listened to his meltdown - the side that he had _assumed_ was Patton - stared back at him, standing slowly from the sofa.

“I know you thought I was Patton,” Virgil said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to listen but… you kept going… and…”

Horror saturated Roman’s mind, quickly replaced by guilt. He had poured out all his feelings about the dark sides - _about Virgil_ \- not to Patton, but Virgil himself. If Virgil didn’t hate him for all the things he said, he would certainly hate him for trying to manipulate his feelings. He hadn’t meant for Virgil to hear everything that he had - but it didn’t matter now. Virgil _had_ heard and there was nothing he could do except apologize and explain himself and beg that Virgil believed him when he did.

“I’m sorry!” Roman burst, desperation turning his voice a little too loud. “I didn’t know it was you! I didn’t - I wasn’t trying to - to guilt you or - or manipulate you or…” He shook his head, taking another step back when Virgil took a step towards him. “I wouldn’t have said that if I knew…” He dropped his gaze, unable to meet Virgil’s piercing stare anymore. “I just want all of us to be _okay.”_

Virgil kept coming towards him, and Roman flinched back, but he was surprised when Virgil wormed his arms around him. 

He was being hugged and rather tightly at that. Error screens flashed in his mind. Of all the reactions he would have expected, this was certainly not one of them.

He would be ashamed to admit it later, but he whimpered, squeezing back just as tightly.

“Roman…”

Virgil moved and Roman didn’t know what he was doing but he knew, _he knew,_ he’d break apart into a million pieces if Virgil pulled away from him. “Please don’t let go,” he begged, holding him tighter.

Virgil froze, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, and Roman let out a shaky breath in relief.

“Ah fuck, Princey,” he said softly, shifting closer to rest his head on Roman’s shoulder. “You’re a mess.”

A strangled chuckle clawed its way out of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then he repeated it. “I’m sorry.” And then again and again, because it was important and he couldn’t stop and -

Virgil pulled back, one hand firmly on Roman’s shoulder and the other now covering his mouth. His eyes were wide. “You’re falling apart,” he realized aloud. “We need to get you to Patton.”

Roman tried to protest despite Virgil’s hand over his mouth while violently shaking his head.

Leveling a glare at him, Virgil waited until he stopped. “Your emotions are all over the place. I’m taking you to Patton.”

Roman promptly burst into tears again.

Virgil swore under his breath, pulling Roman back to his chest. “You’re gonna make me panic and I make stupid decisions when I panic and we’re not doing so hot right now anyway and we really can’t afford to have another meltdown this week and -”

“Virgil?”

Logan was standing on the other side of the room.

“I noticed an increase in negative thoughts in the Mindscape. Thomas is becoming anxious.”

Roman started sobbing out apologies again. “I didn’t mean to,” he cried into Virgil’s hoodie, trying to make sure Virgil understood. “I wasn’t trying to make you - to make you -” He cut off, unable to say anything else through his tears.

“Get Patton,” Virgil ordered tightly, trembling against Roman’s arms. His breathing was starting to pick up - Roman could feel it. _“Fuck,_ get everyone.”

Remus appeared with a slight _pop_ where Roman normally stood during videos.

“This is no time for games,” Logan preemptively warned when Remus started to say something.

Remus stepped around the coffee table, towards Roman and Virgil. He glanced over at Logan, looking surprisingly serious. “Get Deceit,” he ordered.

Logan sunk out.

Remus ruffled Virgil’s hair. “Taking care of my idiot little brother, eh?”

Roman looked up blearily before throwing himself at Remus. Remus stumbled back a step but caught him, helping keep him upright as Roman cried into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Roman moaned, while he heard Virgil from somewhere behind him say, “He’s been crying and apologizing for ten minutes.”

Normally, Roman would hate being spoken about as if he wasn’t standing right there, but he currently didn’t have any emotional energy left to care.

“Not very princely of you,” Remus murmured. “Keep this up and I’ll have to step in as regent.”

Roman protested weakly, but Remus shushed him.

“Just imagine the state I could whip your half of the Imagination into. We’ll have to set the castle on fire, of course. Just a bit of redecorating, you understand. And I’ve always thought your forest could use a little more hmm… _danger._ Some dark entities, some giant spiders, maybe a chimera. Some good old-fashioned dragons. I could inspire your townspeople to live a more _adventurous_ lifestyle.”

“Absolutely not,” Roman dismissed the idea indignantly, sniffling and wiping at his cheeks. He pulled away from Remus.

Remus tilted his head, regarding Roman with enough fondness to curdle milk. “There you are.”

Roman felt himself melt into a puddle. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, feeling a bit more like his usual glittery self. “Thank you, Remus.” He smoothed down the front of his shirt. “Despite our differences, you helped and -” He cut off with an outraged shriek as Remus licked his face. Shoving him away, Roman vigorously scrubbed at his cheek. “Gross!”

“You’re welcome.” Remus bowed with a lewd lick of his lips.

“Augh! No! My eyes!” Roman threw himself onto the sofa, an arm stretched across his face. “Why must you ruin everything?”

He heard chuckles and picked up his arm enough to see Virgil hiding a smile behind his hand. Roman’s expression softened when he caught Virgil’s gaze.

“Hello, _children.”_

The light atmosphere from their joking evaporated immediately. Roman jerked himself into a sitting position, feeling like a scolded child. For a fleeting moment, he thought it was Patton that had said something, but only because they all had been addressed as ‘children’.

Logan, Patton, and Deceit had appeared in the living room. It was Deceit that had spoken, and he stepped forward with a strangely calm look about him, a marked contrast to the ice in his voice.

“Thomas has just finished having a _meltdown_ in the cereal aisle. They didn’t have any regular sized boxes of Captain Crunch, which wouldn’t be an issue, except you’re all in here _crying your eyes out!_

Roman immediately shot back, “As if I _meant_ to make myself miserable! The nerve!”

“I was _not_ crying,” Virgil mumbled, crossing his arms.

“Agh!” Deceit threw his hands up, stalking closer to Virgil. “You were leaking emotions all over the place! It’s practically the same thing.” He stopped when he was close enough to jab a finger into Virgil’s chest. “Learn to repress that shit like the rest of us or so help me-”

Logan called from the other side of the room, “Repressing emotions is unhealthy.”

Roman grabbed Deceit’s wrist, stepping in front of Virgil.

Virgil moved away, mumbling, “Oh _hell_ no.”

Remus grinned and slung an arm over Virgil’s shoulders. “This oughta be fun.”

Deceit and Roman seemed ready to start swinging at any second.

“- oh really _you_ want to lecture _me_ about -”

“- I think _I_ would know better -”

“- as if I trust _anything_ you -”

“EXCUSE ME.”

Everyone turned to Patton. He had his hands on his hips, looking a touch scary despite his ridiculous pose. “Thomas is driving home now so if we could _not_ make him upset again, that would be _great.”_

Roman winced. If Patton was using sarcasm, things were bad. Things were really bad.

Logan stepped up behind Patton, whispering something to him, too soft for the others to hear. Patton’s eyes widened and the anger in his expression was replaced with something like sympathy. “To the sofa,” Logan instructed in a louder voice, leaving no room for other opinions in his tone.

Patton pointedly sat himself between Roman and Virgil. He carefully laid a hand on both of them. “Oh.” He blinked. _“Oh._ That’s a lot of feelings. You poor kiddos.”

Virgil moved himself a few inches away, dislodging Patton’s hand. Roman heard Patton gasp softly, but Virgil’s face was set firmly in a frown, and he pointedly did not look at Patton.

“Virgil…” Patton tried, but Virgil bit back, _“Don’t.”_

Remus settled on the other side of Virgil, shoving his feet under Virgil’s thigh. In voices too soft for Roman to hear, they whispered back and forth and then Remus held out a hand. Virgil’s fidget cube materialized, and then, so did another just like it. They both took one.

Roman turned expectantly to Logan. He started to ask what they were doing now, what they needed to do for Thomas, how they were going to fix the huge mess they had made for themselves, but he opened his mouth and no sound came out. He looked accusingly to Deceit, who gave him a stern glare.

“We’re just going to sit here, where we can all keep an eye on each other, and not speak until Thomas gets home and calms down.”

Logan sighed heavily, and Roman was surprised and annoyed when he started speaking. _Why hadn’t Deceit stolen his voice? Since when had Logan and Deceit become so friendly?_ “This has dragged on to the point that it is affecting Thomas, and that is unacceptable.” Logan crossed his arms. “Once Thomas is home, we will… _suggest_ that he take a nap and then we will come to some kind of agreement so that we can at least allow Thomas to function.”

“Until then, I advise that you get comfortable.” Deceit dropped into an armchair. “Perhaps take a nap yourself or find some quiet entertainment.” His gaze flicked over to Remus and Virgil with their fidget cubes.

Patton tapped Roman’s arm and started to say something, only to stop when he realized he couldn’t speak.

Roman held up a finger, silently telling Patton to wait. He took out his phone. He typed out _movie?_ and held it up for Patton to read. Patton nodded, and Roman pulled up Treasure Planet for them to watch.

Smiling when he saw what Roman had chosen, Patton picked up a pillow from where it had been knocked on the floor and set it in Roman’s lap for him to prop up his phone. 

Sparing the others in the room one last glance, Roman lifted his arm up so Patton could crawl under it and lean against his side while they watched together.

* * *

Logan was pacing in front of him, and it was making Janus’s nerves act up. Usually Virgil was the one to worry (and Janus knew he was worrying, from his place on the sofa next to Remus), but it seemed Logan was picking up the habit as well. He wished Logan would sit down like the rest of them. There was nothing they could do about anything until Thomas got home, and wearing a hole in the floor from walking back and forth wouldn’t help matters any.

Tilting his head back to rest against the chair, Janus closed his eyes. The last day had been a complete and utter nightmare. He was getting a headache just thinking about it now.

It had been a long time since the sides had fought like this. The last time was probably… probably when the Creativity brothers split.

Janus winced and opened his eyes, letting go of that train of thought. He sat back up, looking over at Virgil and Remus. Remus was exploring all the different sides of his fidget cube. Virgil was silently spinning one of the gears on one side, watching Remus.

Something pricked at the back of his mind. He remembered what he had snapped at Virgil about repressing emotions. It wasn’t that he was upset with Roman and Virgil for whatever had come over them with all their feelings, but he would _not_ tolerate them dragging Thomas into whatever meltdown they were having. 

Still, he felt a little guilty.

After a moment, Virgil seemed to sense Janus’s gaze and looked over at him. Virgil raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Janus hesitated for a moment before signing, “You alright?” He didn’t want to ask aloud in front of the others, knowing Virgil wouldn’t want to talk about this in front of them.

Raising a hand, Virgil twitched his fingers for a minute, thinking, his mouth pulled to one side. From the look on his face, Janus could tell he knew exactly what they were talking about. Finally, Virgil nodded and signed back, “I’m alright.” Then a wicked grin crept across his face, and he started to sign what looked like it was going to be _Good_ or _Thank you_ but changed at the last second to, “Fuck you.”

Janus rolled his eyes, catching movement from Remus and realizing with faint horror that he had been watching their conversation as well.

“Fuck me too.”

“No, Remus,” Virgil signed, shaking his head, faintly exasperated.

Janus pressed his palms into his eyelids and said out loud, “Remus, one of these days, I’m–”

All of them suddenly looked at each other, stopping what they were doing. Patton hesitantly said, “Thomas is home.”

The tension in the air was back.

Janus stood up, brushing wrinkles from his cape as he did. “I’m going to suggest that he take a nap while we sort this out.”

“You’re gonna tell him what we’re doing?” Roman asked, looking skeptical.

“Hardly,” Janus scoffed. “If he knew what was going on, he’d want to talk to all of us.”

“A _heart_ to _heart,”_ Virgil cut in, sounding offended at the mere idea of it. Remus and Logan both scrunched their noses in disgust. Patton looked heartbroken at everyone’s reactions.

“I don’t think,” Janus recaptured everyone’s attention, _“that_ kind of discussion is what we need. We’re not here to be friends, we’re here to take care of Thomas. We don’t need to like each other, we just need to work together.”

Logan gave Janus a pointed look, one that Janus ignored.

“I’ll be back.”

When Janus disappeared, Roman asked the room at large, “How is he going to convince Thomas to sleep through our discussions? What _exactly_ is he going to do?”

Patton wrung his hands, looking to Logan, who looked concerned himself.

“Oh, he has his ways,” Virgil intoned darkly.

Remus elbowed him, grinning. “You have no idea, do you?”

Virgil shoved Remus back. “Whatever. You don’t either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OSHA: Occupational Safety and Health Administration (in the United States). They keep workers safe.
> 
> For anyone wondering how Janus gets Thomas to nap: I have two ideas.
> 
> Idea 1: He uses the fact that Thomas thinks he’s only a liar to his advantage. He shows up and says, “I know you might be tired after everything that happened, but Patton says under no circumstances are you to go to sleep.” And that’s basically all it takes. It hurts Janus, but it works. (Someone please hug him.)
> 
> Idea 2: He shows up and says, “You’re tired and assssleep and you’ll dream of whatever you like besssst.” And this sort of ‘pushing’ lies on to characters and changing reality/the truth is the same as how I wrote Janus in [this story here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318829). (The ‘dream of whatever you like best’ line is from Good Omens because I’m GO trash).


	4. Virgil Angst?

Virgil could hear a faint ticking, but he wasn’t sure if he was able to pick up the sound of the clock in the kitchen or if he was just hearing things. Idly, he tapped his thumbs together, much faster and out of time with the ticking.

He didn’t know what the others were doing while they all waited for Janus to come back, but he didn’t dare to look. He didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact and have to deal with the uncomfortable, awkward tension.

He sighed heavily.

Remus nudged him. Virgil looked up, and Remus started to sign, “What’s taking Janus so long?” At least, that’s what Virgil _assumed_ Remus was going to sign, because he suddenly jerked, stopping halfway through, hissing under his breath. He shook his hand out, like it hurt, with his fingers limp, and swore loudly. “Fuck!”

Roman bit out a sharply scolding, _“Remus.”_

_“Fuck,_ I forgot we can’t sign it either,” Remus complained to Virgil, completely ignoring Roman.

Logan, who had taken the armchair Janus had abandoned, sat up impossibly straighter. “Remus,” he asked curiously, “What do you mean?”

Remus glanced at Virgil. 

“May as well tell them. It’s not like it’s a secret.” Virgil shrugged half-heartedly and muttered under his breath, “And who knows when he’s coming back.” 

This was something to talk about anyway, and Virgil hated sitting in oppressive, apprehensive silence. What did he care if the others knew?

Remus turned back to Logan. “I forgot I couldn’t sign Deceit’s name.”

“You know his name?”

“Uh… _yeah?”_

“Hmm. I suppose that _would_ make sense.” 

Virgil rolled his eyes. _And they call Logan the smart one. Ha._

“Deceit stops you from communicating his name in any manner?”

Remus crossed his arms. “I haven’t tried writing it, but it hurt like a bitch when I tried to sign it.”

“It’s not just _Deceit’s_ name,” Virgil added, already seeing the questions in Logan’s expression. “Before me and Remus revealed our names, if anyone but us tried to say them, they’d get a nasty surprise.”

“Oh?” Roman asked curiously, from the other side of Patton.

Remus grinned. “I tried to say Virgil’s name once, but I got a bit of a _shock.”_ He started cackling with laughter.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “An electric shock,” he said dryly, for the benefit of the others. Patton made a distressed noise, and Virgil cut off the impending concerns by elaborating, “It didn’t hurt that much. It was just a reminder not to say it.”

“Says you! _You_ weren’t the one that got shocked!”

Virgil was unmoved by Remus’s plight. “Well you shouldn’t have tried to say my name back then. Or Deceit’s name now, for that matter.” He shrugged. “You did this to yourself, dude.”

“Intriguing.” Logan hummed, scribbling something onto his hand before clicking his pen closed and sliding it into his front pocket.

Virgil raised his eyebrows, exchanging a pointed look with Remus. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

“That’s… surprisingly thoughtful.” Patton’s voice was agreeable, but Virgil bitterly focused on the word ‘surprisingly’. Of course Patton would be surprised that Janus could be thoughtful and kind. Apparently he thought Janus, along with Remus and himself, were embodiments of evil intent on plaguing Thomas in whatever way possible. 

Virgil wanted to sneer and snap back something rude, but he swallowed his words. After all, they were there to make amends.

Remus gave a crooked half-smile with enough impishness in his face to make Virgil’s flight or fight instincts perk up. “Yeah, our _Dee-Dee_ is more sentimental than he looks, isn’t he Virgil?” The nickname dripped from his lips like nectar from a poisoned flower.

Virgil was thankfully saved from having to answer by Janus’s reappearance.

Remus’s eyes widened guiltily, and Janus must have suspected he had just interrupted something. He crossed his arms and asked warily, “What are you up to, Remus?”

Remus sat up rigidly and gave a sloppy salute. “Sir! Just spreading lies and slander to maintain your terrible reputation, sir!”

“Libel,” Roman chimed. “You mean libel.” He grinned like a little kid who had just been given a balloon. He puffed out his chest, a ridiculously smug smile on his face. “Logan taught me that.”

Logan took a pin to Roman’s balloon. “Actually, Remus is correct. In this case, it would be slander, not libel. Slander is spoken; libel is written.” He shot Roman a disappointed frown. “As ever, you listen, but you do not learn.”

The attention returned to Janus, as everyone sat expectantly waiting. Janus started to say something, only to let out a huff of amusement.

Virgil followed Janus’s gaze to see what was so funny, only to see Remus still holding his hand up in a salute. 

Remus wriggled his eyebrows. He looked hopeful.

Janus rolled his eyes, but nodded, amusement lurking behind his facade of exasperation. He returned Remus’s salute. “As you were, soldier.”

Remus gave a bright grin, looking over at Virgil, as if to check that he had seen what Janus had done. Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle, hiding a grin behind his hand (not that anyone was fooled).

Janus cleared his throat, growing serious. “Here we all are.”

“Like lambs to the slaughter,” Remus breathed into Virgil’s ear, leaning in close, only for as long as it took to say. Virgil shared an amused look with Remus, trying not to smile.

Janus glared at them in warning but kept going. “I think this would go better if we had a moderator. Somehow,” he turned to glower at Roman, “our discussions always seem to get a little heated.”

Roman crossed his arms, looking put out. “Takes two to tango,” he muttered.

“I don’t mind who the moderator is…” Janus’s gaze flickered between Patton and Virgil and the space between them on the sofa. “…As long as it’s not Patton.”

Patton blinked, wide-eyed and hurt. He opened his mouth and then closed it, frowning. After a minute, his gaze slid to Remus and then away. “I don’t want Remus to do it,” was all he said in a subdued voice.

“I’m not sure if I’m flattered or offended,” Remus mused, holding a hand up to his chin in an imitation of the classic thinker pose.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Roman said, leaning around Patton to level an incredulous glare at him. “How could you be flattered? That is in no way flattering. At all.”

“Alright!” Virgil cut Roman off before the brothers started a never-ending argument. “Look. Logan should do it.”

Logan opened his mouth, soundless for a heartbeat before letting out an intelligent, “Huh?” He cleared his throat and tried again. “This is a largely emotional subject, and emotions are not in my purview.”

“And?” Janus riposted. “Are you not, then, the least biased?”

“Technically, by qualifications the best -”

Virgil interrupted Logan’s protests. “So does everyone agree or what?”

Roman and Patton readily agreed, and Remus, after looking between both Janus and Virgil, agreed as well.

Logan nudged his glasses up slightly on his nose. “Right. Well.” He looked around at each of them, lingering on Janus, the only one standing. He lowered his voice, although everyone else could still hear, as he addressed Janus. “Would you like to take a seat?”

Janus shook his head.

“Very well. As we are all aware, there have been… ahem, increased tensions lately. These tensions are now affecting Thomas. We need to come to some kind of agreement so that, regardless of the grievances we might have against each other, we are able to cooperatively perform our jobs for the wellbeing of Thomas.”

Patton chewed on his lip. “Wait a minute. I thought we were resolving stuff between us.” He hesitantly smiled. “I thought we were going to be friends?”

“Have you considered that we don’t want to be your friends?” Janus bit back icily.

Virgil chided him softly, _“Deceit.”_

Janus sighed, the anger in his voice fading to resigned bitterness. “Alright fine. Sure, I’d _love_ to be friends. Would’ve loved to have been friends months ago, _years_ ago. But things haven’t worked out that way, and I’m over it.” Janus’s gaze found the floor. His shoulders slumped. Virgil couldn’t help but feel twinges of sympathy, even if he didn’t say anything. “Right now, we need to pull our shit together for Thomas. Everything else can wait.”

Roman tentatively raised a hand, and Logan seemed delighted to call on him. “Thank you for waiting your turn, Roman.”

“How are we going to work together to do our jobs if we can’t stand each other?”

“It’s not about liking each other.” Logan shared a look with Janus, and Virgil couldn’t tell what it meant. “It’s about trusting that each of us will always aim to do what is best for Thomas.”

There were several pointed glances cast, and Logan sighed. “I see we will need to discuss the subject in depth. Roman –”, the side in question sat up a bit straighter at being addressed, “– what is your main objective?”

Roman twisted his hands together like he was preventing himself from making wide, sweeping gestures. “I’m in charge of Thomas’s hopes and dreams.”

“So you push Thomas to pursue the things he wants in life?”

“Of course!” Roman sounded offended that Logan would even have to ask.

Logan glanced around at the rest of them. “And do we all agree that this is beneficial for Thomas?” 

There were a few hesitant nods and no protests.

“Good. Virgil. What is your main objective?”

With everyone looking at him, Virgil felt a bit like a slide under a microscope. “Keeping Thomas safe.”

Logan looked around again. “Concerns?”

And round and round they went, with Patton answering: “I want Thomas to be a good person.” And Janus: “Making sure Thomas looks out for himself.” Then Remus: “I’m like Roman, but I can say fuck!” (Virgil sighed and Janus said, “Try again,” and Remus begrudgingly amended, “The whole creativity thing.”) And then finally, Logan: “My objective is to provide rationality in Thomas’s decision making process.” (Roman briefly made a face at that.)

Patton raised a hand and, at Logan’s prompting, asked, “Why did we do that?”

Logan propped his arms on the armrests of his chair and linked his fingers together in front of him. “It seems there is a disconnect in what some of us believe about each other. I wanted to establish the fact that despite being at odds with _one another_ in our efforts to do what we think is best for Thomas, none of us are actively working _against_ Thomas. With this in mind, hopefully we can better appreciate the perspectives offered by other sides, even when we disagree with them. Because, as we just saw, we are all striving to achieve goals that we consider to be in the best interests of Thomas.”

Virgil flipped his hand over in a confused gesture. “Okay but, _Happy Thomas…”_ He slid his hand over a few inches. _“Safe Thomas._ Those aren’t the same. I’m gonna choose _Safe Thomas_ every time.”

“Sometimes to be happy and _achieve a dream –”_ Roman cut in emphatically, “– you need to be brave! Take risks!” He held his hand up in a fist, all drama.

Remus was quick to take Roman’s side. “Try new things! Make mistakes! Kill a man! Bury the body!”

Virgil gave Logan a deadpan look. “Aaaand now we’re in jail.” He shook his head. “Look, all I’m saying is it seems some of our jobs are a bit more important than others.”

“Woah there, Pride and Panic. Pump the brakes.”

_“Excuse me,_ Heart of Daydreams, if you’re offended that your job isn’t the most valuable.”

Roman stuck his nose up. “Ha. I like that movie! Your insult is weak.”

“You mean _book?_ That’s a _Heart of Darkness_ reference.”

“Ah.” Roman turned pink. “I was thinking of Heart of the Sea.”

“Actually, that’s _In the Heart of the Sea._ It is both a book and a movie. _Heart of Darkness_ is also both a book and a movie.” Logan looked like he was going to offer more information, but Janus cut him off.

“As _fascinating_ as all this is, I’m slightly more concerned about finishing our conversation.” Janus crossed his arms. “You know, so Thomas can buy cereal without crying.”

Chastised, Roman and Virgil fell silent.

“Right, of course,” Logan agreed, back in moderator-mode. “It is true that Thomas cannot listen to Roman or Remus one hundred percent of the time. However,” Logan was mostly addressing Virgil now, “I know you are equally aware that Thomas cannot listen to you all of the time either. Each of us are required, in moderation, to give perspective and to guide Thomas to be the best he can be.”

Virgil sighed and crossed his arms. “Yeah…” he grumbled, “I know.” 

Janus cleared his throat. “So. Are we done?”

Logan nodded, but Patton clapped his hands together. “Wait!” He chewed on his lip for a second, looking around at the others. “I…” His gaze dropped to his hands in his lap. He nervously intertwined his fingers before looking back up, eyes wide, earnestness practically radiating off of him.

Virgil’s heart squeezed at Patton’s heartfelt expression. He wanted to reach out and hold Patton and whisper something _soft –_

And then he hated Patton for making him feel that way. He was hurt and he wasn’t ready to forgive, but his stupid heart still wanted to put a smile on Patton’s face.

He was ready to tear his hair out.

“I feel like you’re still… angry with us,” Patton offered into the silence, not naming names, although it was easy to tell the three sides this was directed towards. “I – I want us all to be friends. I don’t want to keep fighting.”

Janus disappeared with no warning.

Virgil started to turn to Patton, fury bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him, but Remus’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. Remus stood up, letting his hand trail off Virgil, bringing it up to sign, “I’m going after him.” He disappeared with a devilish grin, and Virgil thought he was probably the only one who was able to read the worry beneath Remus’s painted-on expression.

“Where did he go?”

“After Deceit.” Virgil tapped his fingers against his leg, trying to release some of his restless energy. He wanted to hurt them – the light sides. He wanted to tear them to pieces and rip their hearts to shreds and make them feel even a fraction of the way he felt.

But they were his _friends._ And damn it all, he cared about them. Fiercely.

Emotions churned unpleasantly inside him. He made himself take a deep breath and resist the urge to hide in his room.

_Why was this so hard?_

Patton and Roman and Logan were talking. All Virgil heard was white noise. He tried to focus on what they were saying, but the words slipped past him like water through his fingers.

“Guys,” he said in barely a whisper. He swallowed hard and tried again. “Guys!” Three heads snapped towards him, concern splashed in neon lights on their faces. He winced. Horrible little voices whispered in the back of his mind, _you can’t do anything right,_ but he ignored them for now.

He stood up and walked to the other side of the room. His hands were shaking, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his hoodie. When he turned to face the others, they looked even more worried than before.

“I wish you hadn’t said that.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Patton flinched.

Virgil tried to backtrack, tried to explain, but Roman’s voice was louder than his. “Virgil, I know you’re upset, but you can’t keep taking it out on Patton. We’re all involved in this – me, Patton, Logan, and even you and Remus and Deceit. And I think… I think this is mostly my fault. So if you want to blame someone, you should blame me.”

Something sharp and ugly curled itself around Virgil’s heart. “What does that mean, _we’re all involved in this?_ Are you saying this is _my_ fault?” Rage coursed through him, and it felt like ice in his veins. “You think _I’m_ taking it out on Patton?” He could see anger pinching Roman’s face, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop them. _“Forgive me,_ if I don’t want Patton’s pity. _Forgive me,_ if I don’t want him looking at me like he’s just seen someone drown a cat.”

“It’s not fair to –” Roman stopped, choking on his own words, and Virgil had no idea why, but he didn’t care.

“Fair? _Fair?!_ Ha! That’s rich!” He could feel two pinpricks against his bottom lip. He was slipping towards a dark abyss of feelings, and his fangs had appeared as a result; he barely noticed. “I’m upset and hurt and it’s _your_ fault – you and Patton – and now I can’t even have _feelings?_ God forbid I flinch away from Patton’s touch! Or worse – I don’t answer when he tries to speak to me! Poor _Morality!_ How will he cope with the rejection?” Virgil spat the words sarcastically, not minding the venom in his tone, uncaring of the wounds he knew he was inflicting on the others. “Nevermind that rejection is a feeling I’ve known for years!”

“Virgil!” Roman tried in vain to get his attention, to make him stop. _“Anxiety!_ That’s enough!”

**“No, it’s not,”** Virgil growled out, taking a twisted joy in the way Roman shrunk back. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel! You don’t get to tell me I’m not as important as the rest of you! I’m sick of being treated like a second-rate side!” He wound his fingers in his hair, then let go to wave his arms emphatically. “You were supposed to be perfect! You’re the _light sides!_ Even now – even when I was a light side, I didn’t matter to any of you!” That was a lie, and he knew it was a lie, but it held enough truth that he didn’t feel any ounce of regret in saying it. He laughed, and it sounded like glass breaking. “Deceit and Remus and me are fucked up. I’ll admit it. We’ve got sins a mile long and enough issues to fill a trilogy of books. But at least we have the common fucking decency to act like we weren’t the only ones in the world with feelings. Sure, we might be assholes, but we’re assholes who _care._ And that’s more than I can say for you lot.”

“My brother –”

“Remus has apologized to me at least ten times more than you have. And it’s _not_ because he has had more to apologize for. It’s because you can’t swallow your damn pride to admit you were wrong.”

Roman opened his mouth, and no sound came out. His hand tightened around the hilt of his katana, and for a horrifying moment, Virgil thought he would draw it. But instead Roman sank out.

Patton exchanged a surprised look with Logan. He cleared his throat. “Kiddo,” he said quietly, his voice achingly soft and sincere. “I’m so sorry.”

Virgil felt his eyes water. _“No,”_ he choked out, taking a step back. Patton and Logan were so close to him, almost close enough to touch hands if they reached out. He couldn’t remember them walking over to him; he couldn’t remember them standing up from the sofa. “You can’t – you just, you throw out those things, like they’re nothing.” 

_Kiddo._

_I want to be friends._

_I’m sorry._

Virgil pulled his hoodie tighter around him, letting his voice fall to a hoarse whisper. “They’re not nothing.”

Patton’s eyes widened. “That’s why Deceit left.”

Logan looked confused.

“I said I wanted us to be friends. And he’s always wanted that, hasn’t he?” Patton leaned slightly forward, looking at Virgil with a raw sincerity. “It can’t be easy for Deceit to have watched you get accepted or for us to try and accept him now. He’s probably so confused: why him? why now? why not before?” Patton closed his eyes and looked away. “Especially when we didn’t – we didn’t know so much…”

Virgil closed his eyes. He felt horrifyingly vulnerable, listening to Patton break down Janus’s feelings, spilling his carefully guarded thoughts out into the open. “You have no idea,” he said softly, “what it was like, being over there.”

“Oh,” Logan breathed the word, looking like a lightbulb had gone off over his head. “Forgive my wording, but this was never about being a dark side; it was about _not_ being included by the light sides and not being accepted by _Thomas.”_

Virgil sniffed, desperately trying not to cry. “Yeah, that ‘bout sums it up.”

Patton winced. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I never meant to… We’ve done things to hurt you – and the others too – and that’s on us. Please forgive me.”

Virgil’s throat closed up. Something inside him cracked and fell apart, shattering before he had time to close off the feeling.

Patton reached for him, but Virgil instinctively stepped back. 

A moment later, Logan, of all people, was hugging him and awkwardly shushing him. “There, there. Emotions are a volatile monstrosity.”

It took him a moment to realize he was crying. Oh. _Oh._ He grabbed Logan’s shirt, pressing his head into Logan’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he could somehow let himself be absorbed into Logan. 

Everything hurt.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, desperately clutching Logan like he was the only thing keeping him alive. When his sobbing simmered out, he pulled back. His eyes felt puffy, his throat was raw, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the month.

Logan offered him a sympathetic smile.

He slowly turned, half surprised to see Patton still standing there.

Patton’s eyes were red, his skin blotchy. Virgil couldn’t actually see what he himself looked like at the moment, but he thought Patton probably looked only _slightly_ better than he did.

“I want to hug you so bad I can’t stand it.” Emotion caught on some of Patton’s words. “But I know you still need time and space. I have to respect that.” His bottom lip trembled, and he took a deep breath. “I’m _so_ sorry things got this bad. I love you so much, and I never wanted to – to –” He broke off, smothering a sob with his hands. “I didn’t _know.”_

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek. He felt like such an ass, losing control of his anger like he did. He had spat out a bunch of things in the meanest way possible to hurt Roman and Patton. It had felt good, at the time, but it was wrong. And now Patton was crying in front of him, and the guilt felt like a knife in his stomach.

“Patton… I…”

Patton shook his head. “No, no, I’m fine! I’m fine.” He haphazardly wiped his cheeks with the palms of his hands. “I want to talk to you. Err, I want _you_ to talk to _me,”_ he quickly amended.

Virgil felt like crying all over again. He had told Patton once that the phrase _I want to talk to you_ made him nervous. Patton had clearly remembered.

“Not now. Tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever you’re ready.” Patton’s hands fiddled with the ends of the sleeves of his cardigan. “I want to do better. I don’t want to make you feel… like I have been making you feel. I would really appreciate you telling me the things I do that hurt you, so I can work on showing you how much I love you in ways that you’ll understand.”

Virgil nodded, unable to say anything at all.

“Thank you.” Patton gave him a sad little smile. “I’ll leave you alone now.” He sank out without another word.

Logan put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “I am happy to provide you with further physical affection if it will help you, but I can leave you if you would prefer to be alone.”

“No,” Virgil replied too quickly. He couldn’t bring himself to be worried about how insecure that sounded at the moment. “Don’t leave.” He looked at Logan from the corner of his eye and then started studying the floor. “Would you… can we…?”

Logan’s fingers touched the back of his hand in warning before his hand was grabbed. All he said was simply, “Yes.”

Virgil carefully curled his fingers around Logan’s, feeling close to crying again for no reason. He hated the feeling. Tugging on their joined hands, he led Logan up the stairs. They walked down the hall, passing Patton and Roman’s closed doors. When they reached his room, Virgil pushed the door open with a creak. He peered inside but didn’t see what he was looking for in the dark room.

He glanced uneasily at Logan, wondering if he would balk as they walked further down the hall.

Logan only gave him a curious look, as if to say, _what are you waiting for?_

He tried to watch Logan’s reaction as they kept walking. A cynical part of him expected a flinch or an excuse and hasty retreat when Logan saw where they were going. He pushed open Janus’s door, only to find the room as dark and empty as his own had been. But across the hall, the crack under Remus’s door was glowing dimly. Inside, the room was lit by a single lamp on the far side of the room. Janus and Remus were both lying in Remus’s bed.

Remus raised a finger to his lips and then pointed at Janus, indicating that he was asleep.

Virgil stepped on the back of his shoes, pulling his feet out of them. He let go of Logan’s hand.

Remus raised an eyebrow, looking between Virgil and Logan.

Virgil shrugged and tilted his head, silently asking if it was okay that Logan was with him.

Remus shrugged back and shook his head. He didn’t care.

Logan watched their exchange silently as he pulled off his own shoes. When Virgil walked over towards the bed, Logan hesitantly followed.

Janus was lying plastered against the wall on one side and Remus pressed against his other side. Virgil carefully burrowed into Remus’s free side, holding an arm out for Logan.

Logan seemed unsure but laid down next to him anyway. He took a few minutes to get situated, wiggling around every few seconds. When he finally grew still, Virgil nudged him and showed him his hand, fingers curled except for his thumb. Logan mimicked the gesture, giving Virgil a thumbs up, confirming he was good.

He lightly tapped Logan’s cheek, and Logan turned to look at him. Virgil put his fingers to his own chin and then moved them towards Logan.

Logan’s eyes widened in a silent question.

Quietly, Virgil whispered the meaning of the sign. “Thank you.”


	5. Roman Angst

Roman woke to bright light and chirping birds. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight, and slowly sat up. Grass stuck to his clothes, helping to hide the smudges of dirt on his previously pristine white shirt. Everything ached, but that was to be expected, having spent the night sleeping in a field.

After having his heart ripped out and handed to him on a platter by Virgil yesterday, Roman had aimlessly wandered the Imagination for a while before lying on his back, looking up at the stars that he and Remus had once created together, years ago. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he had been crying and exhausted. Sleep had taken him before he had time to notice.

He stood up on his feet, brushing the grass from his back as best he could. Two bluebirds flew towards him, trilling out a melody as they flew nearer. He waved them off – he was in no mood to play the singing Prince Charming today.

Briefly, he considered leaving the Imagination, but the thought of seeing any of the other sides made him feel sick. Guilt sat heavy like a poison on his conscience.

_This is all your fault. You’re the one that can’t get along with the others. You’re the one that always starts fights. You’re the one that started all of this when you fought with Remus in the kitchen. It’s your fault your fault your –_

Roman firmly shoved the thoughts away, not wanting to accidentally summon Virgil with the direction his feelings were spiralling. He laughed bitterly to himself; the absolute last thing in the world that he wanted to do was accidentally summon Virgil. Virgil probably hated him, and for good cause.

He had no idea how he’d ever be able to look Virgil in the eye again. Or any of the others either, for that matter.

Roman sighed and started walking. There was no use in just standing about and staring at the horizon, letting his thoughts consume him. At the very least, there were some gardens he had intended to plant in the fields adjacent to the village. Might as well make himself useful.

Absently, he trailed his fingers in the tall grass and tried to make out shapes in the clouds overhead.

A young deer was asleep, and Roman almost missed it, lost in his mind. The only indication of the deer’s presence was the little patch of bent grass it was sitting on. He stopped just short of nearly stepping on it and took a step back.

“Hi,” he breathed softly. He couldn’t help but smile at the way it blinked its eyes sleepily. Because this was the Imagination and everything in it existed solely as figments of his will, he reached out and petted the baby deer’s head, unworried of any ill consequences.

The deer stood up on spindly little legs and started walking. Roman followed it, uncaring that he was no longer heading in the direction of the village. After a while, the tall grass gave way to shorter grass and patches of shrubbery and then even some trees. They walked in the shade together, spots of light speckling the ground where the sunlight broke through the leaves overhead.

Roman followed behind the deer, amused when it looked back every so often, as if checking to see that he was still there.

And then, up ahead, there was another deer, this one larger. It sat in the shade of a tree, halfway hidden behind a thicket. The baby deer sat next to the other one, without a backwards glance towards Roman.

His heart lurched in his chest at the sight that the two of them made. He desperately wished he had somewhere like that to belong. He wished everyone wasn’t fighting because then he could rise up in the living room and argue about The Little Mermaid with Virgil and Logan and sit with his head in Patton’s lap and feel safe and warm and _loved._

Shame heated his cheeks, and he wondered if Remus and Deceit liked Disney movies.

Turning away from the deer, Roman walked blindly for a while, until he saw something in the distance. As he got closer, he realized what it was: the border between his half of the Imagination and Remus’s half.

The border had been many things throughout the years. At first, it had never existed at all. But after the split, for a long time, an invisible impenetrable barrier prevented any crossover between the halves. As time passed, they learned to manipulate the border just as they had everything else in the Imagination. Remus had once changed the border into a wall of fire; Roman changed it into a stone wall covered in thorny vines. It had been electrified pylons, a vertical grid of lasers, and a chasm too wide to cross and too deep to ever reach the bottom. It had also been simply a stream at one point and a climbing wall at another. Mostly recently, however, it was a stone wall that barely came up to Roman’s chest, like something out of a hillside somewhere in Europe.

He placed his palms flat on the top of the wall and with a jump, wiggled up there. He swung his feet so they hung over the edge and gazed out across the field in front of him, facing Remus’s side.

At first glance, it seemed identical to his half, but the longer he looked, the more oddities he could see. Trees that somehow turned everything beneath their branches into shades of black and white. The holes in the ground that exuded a faint neon orange glow. The thick smog that hung around the highest tower of Remus’s fortress, barely visible in the distance.

Roman dejectedly kicked his feet against the wall.

He was tired of fighting with the others, but he had no idea how to stop. Sometimes it felt like the only thing he knew how to do was trade verbal blows with them. They would snark and snipe and it was always in good fun – until suddenly it wasn’t, but Roman never knew how to stop or take the words back. He never knew how to apologize when he felt he had gone too far.

Virgil’s words about his pride had cut close to his heart, because they were true. He _didn’t_ know how to admit he was wrong. It should be easy: all he had to do was open his mouth and say the words. But somehow it never seemed quite so easy in the moment.

Idly, he wondered how long he could stay in the Imagination. He couldn’t duck out – they had all learned how disastrous that was for Thomas when Virgil had done it. But he could stay here, away from the others, where he couldn’t cause any more harm. He could do his job from here. And Thomas didn’t really need him in videos, especially now that Deceit and Remus had made their debuts. Six sides were a lot to fit into a video – five sides would be just as well, if not better.

A tiny part of him wondered if the others would miss him. If they would look for him. If they would care.

He told himself it would be better this way.

Movement caught his eye, and he watched a dog emerge from the black and white forest. Or at least he _thought_ it was a dog. It was a skeleton, only bones, so it was a bit difficult to tell exactly what it was without the other identifying characteristics, like fur and eyes and ears.

He extended a cautious hand towards it, pleased when it jumped up on the wall next to him. It fearlessly pressed its skull into his hand, clearly wanting to be pet. Roman was happy to oblige and after a few moments, it sat back, seemingly interested in the stone wall beneath its feet. It pawed at the wall with one of its front legs, its bones making a strange ceramic sound against the stone.

“Made a friend?”

Roman turned suddenly to see Remus walking towards him. It seemed a bit odd, because he couldn’t remember seeing him walk over from the forest or from the path that came from Remus’s fortress, and he should have been able to see Remus approach.

“Marco, no!”

Remus was looking somewhere beneath Roman’s feet now, frowning and looking disappointed. When Roman looked down, he saw the skeleton dog must have fallen off the wall and was lying in an unmoving heap of disjointed bones. Fear seized him. “Is it…?”

It felt a bit paradoxical to ask if a skeleton was dead.

Remus, having reached the wall now, crouched down and held out a hand. “Marco, this is the absolute last time I’m fixing you.” The pile of bones shifted and suddenly the skeleton dog was standing up again and trotting over to Remus. It made a clacking noise, bone hitting bone, and after a moment, Roman realized it seemed to be moving its jaw. Remus rolled his eyes and fixed the dog with a firm look. _“I know_ I said that last time, but I’m serious. You’re a walking disaster.” It made a similar clacking noise that was somehow distinctly, inexplicably, happier. Looking up and shaking his head, Remus admitted, “He’s spoiled rotten.”

Not really sure where to begin, Roman asked the obvious question first. “You named your skeleton dog _Marco?_ Isn’t that a bit… bland, for you?”

Giving the dog a final pat, Remus stood up, ignoring the clacking noises and the way the dog ran in circles around his legs, clearly wanting attention. He smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “Marco isn’t a _dog.”_

Roman warily eyed the skeleton creature. “I’m afraid to ask.”

Remus laughed a bit meanly but in a bright way such that Roman didn’t mind it. Bending over, Remus scooped the skeleton _something_ up into his arms, much to its delight. “Here, look.” Fur and ears and a bushy tail slowly took shape, translucent and hazy in the way that illusions are. It looked very much like a fox.

“I see.” Roman shook his head, smothering a laugh when Remus dropped the fox to the ground and conjured a tennis ball. The skeleton fox raced off when Remus threw it. “But _Marco?”_

Remus jumped up on the wall, sitting next to Roman. “I was eating watermelon.”

Roman wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I hate watermelon. It tastes like –”

“– pulpy water,” both brothers finished together.

Roman scowled. “I’m serious! It does! It’s gross and weird and I don’t like it.”

“I _know.”_ Remus rolled his eyes and shook his head. “So I was eating watermelon when I first saw Marco. And I fed him some and he liked it and then he started following me around. I figured I had to give him a name at that point, right? And since we met because of the watermelon I was eating, I figured I’d name him after that.”

“But you didn’t name him _Watermelon,”_ Roman said slowly, not sure what Remus was getting at.

“I’m not done,” Remus complained. “Watermelon reminds me of that birthday party we went to when we were – oh, I don’t know, six or seven maybe? I can’t remember whose birthday it was. Someone from Thomas’s first grade class. Carter? Malik?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Remus glared at him. “Stop grumbling, I’m getting there.” He swung his feet, hitting them against the side of the wall. “So the party. We had cake and pizza and watermelon and cantaloupe, do you remember? And we played tag in the backyard and swam in the swimming pool. We had those swim trunks, the green ones, with the different sharks on them.”

The pieces clicked into place. “And we played Marco Polo.”

“And we played Marco Polo,” Remus agreed, nodding. “So I named him Marco.”

Roman couldn’t help but chuckle. “You sure jumped through a lot of hoops to connect those dots.”

Remus turned to him with a grin and held up two fingers, one on each hand, and brought them together to touch. “But I connected them.”

“You did.”

They both turned back to watch Marco, who was rolling around in the grass near their feet with the tennis ball. Roman started kicking his legs against the wall again.

“Remus.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about then? When we were kids?”

Remus gave an easy shrug. “Sure. I had a blast back then. The other kids thought gross things were funny. I did some of my best work then, you know. We hadn’t gone to so much school yet and the world seemed… limitless. Everything was new.”

Roman bit the inside of his cheek, turning to watch Remus. He was looking out ahead of them, grinning while he talked about his favorite jokes that kids told when they were still in elementary school. He looked… happy.

“No,” Roman cut him off, ducking his head and playing with the edge of his sash. “No, I mean… do you… do you ever think about back when we were still… I mean before we… like how we were. You and me. When Thomas was little.”

“Oh.”

Remus didn’t say anything else, and when Roman snuck a glance at him, he looked like all the cheerfulness had deflated out of him. Guiltily, Roman regretted saying anything at all. “It’s just – I mean sometimes – when I – or I think –”

“I do,” Remus softly interrupted Roman’s incoherent explanation. “I think about it sometimes.”

The words left Roman’s mouth before he had a real chance to think about them: “Do you ever miss it?”

Remus started laughing, but it didn’t sound happy. He tilted his head back, looking at Roman from the corner of his gaze, and then shook his head, grinning. His teeth were sharper than they should have been. Remus jumped down off the wall and turned to face him, and Roman was surprised to see his eyes, pupil, iris, sclera, and all, were solid green. “No,” he spat out, and Roman realized belatedly that Remus was _angry._ “I _never_ miss it.”

“I didn’t –”

“The fuck?” Virgil and Deceit both appeared, standing near enough to Remus. Neither were facing either Remus or Roman when they first appeared, but they quickly turned and found them. “What. The fuck.” It was Virgil that said it the first time and Virgil that repeated it when he saw them.

Deceit, after catching sight of Remus’s eyes, was by his side in a moment, wide-eyed and concerned.

“I’m _FINE!”_ Remus bit out in a voice that suggested he was, in fact, not fine at all.

Virgil and Deceit exchanged undecipherable looks. After a few raised eyebrows and pointed head tilts, Deceit ushered Remus off deeper into his side of the Imagination.

“Marco!” Remus demanded, not bothering to look back at the skeleton fox. Marco, perhaps sensing the fury rolling off Remus in waves, obediently followed behind them with the tennis ball.

The moment they were out of earshot, Virgil rounded on Roman, and demanded, “What the fuck is wrong with you? What? Have you made it your personal goal to make everyone have a fucking _meltdown?!_ Were you worried Remus was missing out? Wanted him to have his turn bawling his eyes out?”

Roman twisted his fingers together, trying to ignore the rising panic he was feeling. He hadn’t meant to hurt Remus, but once again, his big mouth had run off without him.

“Well,” he deflected, “Technically, I think _Patton_ was the one that sent Deceit into fits, not me.”

“Dude!” Virgil punched him in the arm, _hard._ “I’m serious!” He crossed his arms, watching as Roman hopped down off the wall and gingerly rubbed his arm. “Besides,” Virgil muttered, _“You_ sent Deceit into fits in the kitchen at the start of this shitshow.”

Roman ran his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to make Remus upset. I just – I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying and I was feeling a lot of nostalgia and then by the time I realized he was mad, you guys showed up and Remus was running off. And what am I supposed to do then, huh? Whenever one of you is upset, you run off before we can do anything to fix it!”

Virgil’s words were so sarcastic that Roman could practically taste it in the air. “Okay, fine. Next time I have a panic attack and cry myself to sleep, I’ll make sure to do it riiiight next to you. We’ll have a slumber party – braid Patton’s hair.”

Roman’s breath caught in his throat. “You cry yourself to sleep?” he asked quietly.

Virgil turned a pale pink, and Roman decided Virgil hadn’t meant to admit that out loud. “What? No! It’s not important. Look – just, what did you say to Remus? Deceit’s doing damage control but it would help if we knew what we were up against.”

Roman looked up for a long moment. He took a deep breath and held it before slowly letting it out. “I asked if he thought about when we were kids. If he missed it. When me and him were still… Creativity. You know, together. Before everything.”

Virgil opened his mouth and no sound came out. Fear flashed across his face and he finally whispered, **_“Fuck.”_ **

“I know I shouldn’t have, but we were talking about a birthday party Thomas went to and I was thinking about memories and – and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t _mean_ to!”

Before Roman could try and stop him, Virgil shoved him backward, and he felt himself collide with the wall behind him. Virgil stepped closer, getting up in his face, an ugly, angry set to his mouth.

“I’m gonna tell you this _only_ because I want you to understand why you can’t do this again. Got it?”

Roman resisted the urge to push Virgil back and start a fight. A guilty tiny voice at the back of his mind whispered that he deserved this.

When he nodded, Virgil continued, “After the split, Remus didn’t speak for _months._ He didn’t come out of his room. He didn’t eat, he didn’t smile, he didn’t do _anything._ He went into the Imagination a handful of times and then refused to go back.”

Roman’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought he would cry. “I didn’t –”

 **_“No,”_ ** Virgil cut him off. “You don’t _get it._ It was Christmas – nothing. It was April Fools’ – nothing. Thomas’s birthday. School ended. We went to Disney World. School started back. _Nothing._ I thought he was dead or broken or worse. I was scared out of my mind. Me and Deceit both were.”

Tears slowly rolled down Roman’s cheeks, and Virgil finally, _finally,_ stepped away.

“I didn’t know,” Roman sobbed, miserable and ashamed. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Virgil’s shoulders slumped, and he wouldn’t meet Roman’s gaze. “He never talks about it. Just pretends like it didn’t happen.”

Roman sank down to the ground in an uncoordinated heap, not bothering to try and stop crying at this point. Guilt pressed on his conscience, threatening to drown him. In a twisted way, he welcomed it, feeling entirely responsible for the whole trainwreck of a situation. He wouldn’t blame Remus if he socked him in the jaw next time they saw each other. He wouldn’t blame Remus for chewing his head off either. Or if he never spoke to him again. Or if he never wanted to be in the same room as Roman. _What if he never leaves his room again?_ The thought surprised Roman, and it was quickly followed by another. _What if he stops speaking again?_

_What if he stops doing his job?_

**_What if he tries to duck out?_ **

Roman felt like he was going to be sick. Blindly, he reached for Virgil, whimpering when Virgil pulled himself out of Roman’s grasp.

“Roman. _Roman.”_

He felt Virgil grab him, but he was crying and he couldn’t see and he couldn’t think and he couldn’t breathe and –”

“Roman.”

That was a different voice and it was one he knew and without another thought he launched himself at his brother.

“What the fuck, Roman? You summoned Remus?”

“He couldn’t help it,” Remus told Virgil quietly. After a moment, Remus gently pried himself out of Roman’s grasp. “Those were some fun thoughts.”

Roman cringed, realizing his spiraling concerns must have accidentally summoned Remus. “Sorry – I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

From somewhere behind him, arms wrapped around his torso, holding him tightly. He tensed, only to have Virgil chide, “Relax. You’ve got a fuckton of anxiety right now. I still kinda hate you, but I’m gonna fix you anyway.” Roman leaned back against him, slowly feeling the anxiety leech out of him.

Roman belatedly saw Deceit had reappeared, hovering just behind Remus, watching him like a hawk. Remus’s eyes were red-rimmed. He looked exhausted and miserable, and Roman’s heart sunk at the thought that he was the one to cause it.

He sucked in a breath and mustered up his courage. He could do this. He had to – for Remus.

As if sensing the shift in the air, Virgil let go of Roman.

“I’m sorry, about before. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I wasn’t thinking and I was remembering things and,” his voice caught, but he forced himself to keep going, “sometimes I really miss the way things used to be and I miss when we were the most important part of Thomas and I – I miss you. And I just. I thought… I thought maybe… maybe you missed me too.”

For a long time, Remus didn’t say anything. Then he sighed heavily. “Of course I fucking missed you,” he hissed, barely a whisper. “But things were different for you than they were for me.” He crossed his arms and grumbled, “And you certainly never act like you miss me.”

Roman hung his head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Remus nodded seriously. “Alright.” He summoned an ornate dagger and held it carefully on either end, offering it into the space between them. “Cut off your hand, and we’ll be even.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue. I’m out. If you need anything…” Virgil gave a pointed look to Remus. “A grave dug… a body moved…”

Roman was only 70% sure that Virgil was joking.

Remus gave a single serious nod in Virgil’s direction, and then Virgil disappeared with a two-finger salute.

Deceit tugged at his gloves, looking at Remus in his peripheral vision. “I’ll get the bleach and trash bags.” And then he was gone too.

“As if we would need to clean up,” Remus laughed with a shake of his head. “We don’t have police here. Who would they be? Logan? Patton? Dee?” He shook his head again. “Nah, I could just leave you and your severed hand here.”

“Remus,” Roman said, somewhat nervously, eyeing the dagger Remus was _still_ holding. “You don’t really expect me to cut off my hand, do you?”

Remus threw the dagger over his shoulder, not bothering to look where it was going. It disappeared before it hit the ground. “No. But you owe me _so_ many favors.”

Roman narrowed his eyes. That was fair but… “Terms and conditions.”

“Four no-strings-attached experiments with me.”

“I take your side once in a video,” he quickly countered, remembering an experiment that nearly killed them both.

“I win every argument for the next year.”

“You can help me redesign the dungeon of my castle.”

“I help redesign your dungeon _and_ you do one experiment with me.”

“Only if the experiment does not involve,” Roman started to tick off items on his fingers, “dead things, blood or tissue, anything with a strong smell, ingestion of any kind, mutation, sedation, or fire. Or anything that Logan would classify as ‘having a strong probability of bodily harm’.”

Remus seemed to consider this and finally accepted. “Fine.”

“Deal.”

Both held out their hands and shook.

The silence was awkward for a minute and then: “Do you wanna fight? I fixed everything after the chimera.”

Roman winced at the memory. Several weeks prior, they had decided to conjure a chimera in the room of Remus’s fortress that they normally used to spar with each other. The chimera had unfortunately burned most everything in the room to ashes. He shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”

Remus turned, starting back towards the path that would lead them to his fortress.

Roman jogged to catch up, walking at his side.

“Sorry I summoned you earlier.”

“It’s fine,” Remus brushed off the concern. “You couldn’t help it. I didn’t mean to summon Virgil and Deceit and drag them into everything either. It is what it is.”

“You know, I didn’t know Virgil could take away anxiety.”

“What?”

“When he, you know…” Roman mimed giving someone a hug.

Remus burst into laughter. “You thought he took your anxiety away?”

“He did!” Roman defended, feeling like he was being made fun of for some reason. “I felt it!”

“That’s _not_ what that was.”

“Yes it was!”

“No it wasn’t!”

“It was!”

“It wasn’t!”

“Then what was it, Mr. Expert on Virgil’s Weird Anxiety Powers?”

“Excuse me, that’s _Dr._ Expert on Virgil’s _Lack of_ Weird Anxiety Powers, to you.”

Roman shoved Remus, sending him skidding sideways as they walked along. When Remus angled back, he shook his head, laughing all over again. “Dude, it was just a _hug.”_

 _Oh._ A weird collection of noises left his mouth, none of which formed any words. Roman blushed fiercely and staunchly ignored his brother’s snickers and taunts the whole way back to the fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my dear friend Milo, a wildlife biologist, who talked me through the science of Marco the skeleton fox and what kind of sounds his skull would make.


	6. Handprints and Remus Angst

Remus knocked and then pushed the door open. “I’m back!” he singsonged, flashing a smile.

Virgil startled, dropping the pencil in his hand. He picked it up and slipped it in one of his pockets. Glaring at Remus, he pulled his headphones down off his ears. “Thanks for that.”

Ignoring his irritation, Remus pointed at the headphones around Virgil’s neck. “Whatcha listening to?”

“My Chemical Romance.”

Remus started towards Virgil’s desk, spotting his phone. “Don’t lie to me. You always mouth the lyrics when you listen to MCR and you weren’t doing that. Which means you’re lying about your tunes, and _that_ means it’s something _embarrassing.”_

Virgil darted in front of him, snatching his phone before Remus could get to it. “Glass houses,” he shot back, scowling. “I know your taste in music.”

“That’s fair,” Remus answered with a shrug, “But I have no shame.”

Virgil groaned, amusing Remus to no end. “What do you _want?”_

Remus hummed. “You won’t like it.” With a little twirl, he sat on the floor with his back to the bed. “Serious talk time.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow, nervous energy swimming behind his eyes. Remus nodded in answer to the silent question. Virgil started to chew on the side of his thumb before he visibly caught himself and tucked his hands into his pockets. “How bad?”

Confusion stole Remus’s breath until he remembered the phrase. It was something they used to do, back before Thomas knew about any of them. When they had to have a serious conversation, they would give Virgil a number about how bad it was going to be, so he could prepare and he wouldn’t have a panic attack before they even started the conversation.

Remus thought for a minute. “Six. Maybe less.”

He jerked his head, wanting Virgil to sit on the floor with him. Virgil settled about a foot away from Remus, leaning back against the bed, mirroring his position. Looking at Remus once from the corner of his eyes, he pulled his hood up over his head. It might have bothered some people, but Remus knew Virgil would still listen. Eye contact was hard for the both of them, and Remus knew Virgil found it easier to talk about some things if he wasn’t looking right at someone.

Launching right into the conversation to put Virgil out of his misery, Remus said, “You’re being too hard on Roman.”

Virgil’s response was flat. “You’re joking.” 

Remus let out a huff of frustration. “I said ‘serious talk time’. You heard me.”

Virgil turned, so he was facing Remus again, like he wanted him to appreciate the incredulous look on his face. “Yeah, but… _Roman?_ He’s an asshole. He’s always starting fights!”

“I’m always starting fights too,” Remus countered, not quite in Roman’s defense, but more because it was true.

Virgil continued to look at him as if he were being particularly dense. “You and Roman literally fought _today_ in the Imagination about –”

_“Don’t.”_

The end of Virgil’s sentence hung unspoken in the air between them. _About the split._ Virgil scooted away, collapsing back against the bed. Facing away from Remus, he folded his legs up so he could rest his head on his knees. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t – I shouldn’t’ve –” He sucked in a sharp breath and then let it out, slow and even. “I wasn’t gonna say anything about it.”

Remus looked up at the ceiling for a long time. He firmly pushed away any thoughts about _that time_ and focused on keeping all his emotions firmly squashed down and locked away. “S’okay.” A rubber band appeared in his hands for him to fidget with. “Look. I’m not saying Roman’s right. I’m saying, if you want to fix things, you gotta talk to him. You gotta…” He sighed, remembering the two of them at the border in the Imagination. “You gotta let him talk and explain things, no running off. He just spits stuff out, no filter – and yes, I know that’s ironic coming from me. You gotta give him time to…” He shook his head, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

“I know,” Virgil said quietly, surprising him.

Remus waited for more words that never came. Virgil still wasn’t looking at him, so Remus couldn’t use his expression to gauge what he might be thinking. So instead, Remus waited and counted the stitches on Virgil’s hoodie. Counted the number of patches. The lines in the plaid. A memory of two boys clumsily sewing patches on the knees in their jeans came to his mind. He couldn’t remember whose idea it was now – probably his, but it could have just as easily been Virgil’s – but they had sat for hours and attached squares of fun-patterned fabric to their pants, only for the stitches to pull out a week later. It had taken a good bit of trial and error (and eventually some instruction from Janus) before they managed to sew on patches that both looked good and stayed attached.

“…Virgil?”

He didn’t say anything, but he did turn his head.

“What’re you afraid of?”

“You want that in alphabetic order or chronologic?” The quip and tone of voice were pretty convincing, but he had known Virgil longer than that. He knew better.

Remus reminded him, “Serious talk time.”

“Serious talk time,” Virgil repeated back, not bothering to hide his grumbling about it. He stretched his legs out in front of him and pulled his hood more firmly around his head. “If I’m not mad at Roman anymore… then I’ll just be… sad. I won’t have anyone to blame. So I’ll blame myself and I’ll obsess over everything that’s happened and everything I should have done different and all the bad things I said and did and I won’t be able to sleep and that just means more time to overthink and –”

Remus nudged Virgil’s leg with his foot, making him fall silent.

He was quiet for a few moments. “S’just… it’s bad, I know, but it’s nice to have someone to blame that isn’t me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s nice to be angry instead of… paranoid.”

 _Fuck._ Sirens and warning lights started going off in Remus’s head. There were a million and one unspoken rules in the Mindscape, and even more between him and Virgil and Janus. One of them included never bringing up the split around him. Another was never saying _paranoid_ around Virgil.

Remus pulled Virgil’s weighted blanket from his bed and draped it around his shoulders. Virgil watched him with a hollow, vulnerable expression the whole time. When Remus sat down again, he sat right next to Virgil, close enough that his leg pressed against Virgil’s. Warmth seeped into him where they touched.

“I’m not saying you can’t blame Roman. I’m not saying don’t be mad at him. Hell, I’m still _pissed_ about today. Kinda hate his guts right now. But he’s still my brother, still your friend.” He tapped his foot against Virgil’s. “You can be mad at him and still talk to him. Besides, how are you gonna insult him if you’re not talking to him, right? Gotta be talking to him to give him death threats. Gotta be around him to beat the shit out of him.”

“…yeah.”

All the little things about Virgil’s interactions with the others floated through Remus’s mind, and he tried to pin them down into words. Janus, or Logan, maybe, would be better suited for this conversation. “You’re different than everyone else.” Remus ignored how Virgil mumbled, “How?” and kept speaking, “You’re friends with everyone. But you have history with everyone. You and me and Janus have… a lot going on.”

 _“Understatement,”_ Virgil hissed under his breath.

“And I know the golden trio was kinda rough when you first showed up.” Remus shrugged, his shoulder brushing the blanket around Virgil’s body. “I think you got a lot bottled up. Anyone would, with what’s happened. To you. To me. To any of us. I just don’t want you to take it all out on Roman.”

“Hm.” Short. Pointed. And nothing else.

Remus waited as long as he could before prompting, “Say something, Virge.”

The blanket shrugged. “No, I mean… that’s… fair. Just. Give me some time. To think about it.”

Remus stood up. “Do you want me to go?”

“No!”

A soft feeling settled in his chest. “Nap?” When there wasn’t any answer, he gave another offer. “Distraction?”

“…MarioKart.”

Remus summoned the gamecube and the controllers. He sat back down next to Virgil on the floor. “Double Dash,” he said conversationally, “Just the way nature intended.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Shut up and pick a car already.”

* * *

There was fudge setting in the fridge. A bowl of dough was rising, shut in the drawer under the oven to keep the warm air from escaping. A batch of cookies were cooling on the stovetop, although Patton had already started to ice some of them. Earbuds were stuck in his ears, connected to an old iPod in the pocket of his cat sweater. Originally, he had every intention of playing something soothing or gently happy to help his spirits, but somehow he ended up listening to [Sad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcVw3YXdzRA) on loop.

His current batch of cookies were all circle-shaped. At first, he had wanted to make some animal themed cookies: cats, dogs, hedgehogs, seahorses. But while looking through all his cookie cutters, the circles had caught his attention. Those, paired with the idea to recreate emojis with icing, sealed his fate. Now, however, he was finding it was a little more difficult than he had thought it would be to ice the cookies to match emojis. The eyes in his heart eyes emoji had spread until they were no longer heart shaped at all, looking instead like anger-fueled blobs. The tears on the laughing-crying emoji had gotten too big, robbing it of any perceived happiness despite the big smile he had drawn on. And his current disaster, a plain old smiley, which should have been easy, had turned out shakier and pulled too far to one side, looking sad and pitiful in Patton’s eyes.

Emotion built in his throat, threatening to drown him, but he took a deep breath, refusing to allow cookies to make him cry. Surveying his work, he reminded himself there were still more cookies to go – more opportunities to fix things. He got another piping bag and cut a smaller hole in the tip this time, hoping that would help.

His attempt at the sunglasses emoji was so horrible, he ate it on sight so he didn’t have to look at it anymore. And then even, eating a cookie didn’t make him feel better.

Movement somewhere to his right made him look up. Virgil stood frozen, caught in his gaze. Patton offered him a nervous smile and pulled his earbuds from his ears. “If you want in here, I can leave.”

Virgil hesitated then shook his head. His fingers pulled on the ends of the strings on his hoodie. “You look pretty sad for someone who’s eating cookies.”

“I wanted to try something… but it’s not going well.” Patton let out a weak laugh that didn’t fool either of them.

Virgil bit his lip, looking back over his shoulder up the stairs and then at the fridge before asking, “Do you want me to take a look?”

Something warm curled up in the space behind his ribs, but Patton forced himself to think of Virgil. “No, that’s okay.” He gave a tight smile.

“Patton…” Virgil blew his breath out, letting it ruffle his bangs. “I’d like to look. If you don’t mind. It’s okay if you don’t. I just want to help, if I can. And maybe I can’t, but I don’t want you to avoid me. And I don’t want to avoid you. I just – I mean I don’t – if you – er, that is, if –”

“Yeah,” Patton nodded, trying not to make it a big thing. He knew this was hard for Virgil too. “If you want to, I’d like to show you.” Virgil offered him a lopsided smile that Patton couldn’t help but return, more real than his last one had been. He set his icing aside for a minute to pull all the cookies he had already iced to the center of the counter. Virgil walked over to stand next to him. “I saw the circle cookie cutters and thought I would ice these like emojis. But they didn’t really turn out right.”

“Hmm.” Virgil pulled out his phone, and Patton’s heart sank. He did his resolute best to not look over at whatever was more important to Virgil, out of privacy and because he simply didn’t want to know. He didn’t say a word as Virgil’s fingers typed something out, and a second later, Virgil slid his phone back into a pocket. He took a few moments to look the cookies over. “I mean, I like them, but I know it’s not what you wanted.” He smiled a little, pointing at Patton’s attempt at a plain smiley. “I like this one though. It looks like the smirk emoji.”

Patton frowned; that’s not what it was supposed to be. But Virgil was pulling his mouth to the side, mimicking the smirk emoji, and the more Patton looked at the cookie, the more he thought Virgil could be right. If it couldn’t make him happy… maybe it could make someone else happy. His gaze darted up from the cookies. “Do you want it?”

Surprise flitted across Virgil’s face before his expression softened. “Yeah, thanks.” He picked up the cookie and shoved it all in his mouth at once.

“Careful, you’ll choke,” Patton absently chided him. He was surprised to see another figure enter the kitchen behind Virgil. “Logan?”

Logan walked over to them, saying, “Virgil, I received your text requesting culinary advice…” He trailed off when he caught sight of the cookies.

Patton winced. “I know, they’re bad.”

“On the contrary, these are quite good, considering your construction materials.” Logan picked up the bowl of icing Patton had been intending to use to fill his new piping bag. Logan tilted the bowl back and forth, then held it out to show Patton and Virgil. “Your icing is far too fluid.”

“I followed the instructions…”

“I believe you,” Logan reassured him. “However, that does not change the consistency of the icing.” Logan pointed to the cookie that depicted a smiley with a halo. “Do you see how the halo has dripped down the side of the cookie before it has fully set? You need a thicker icing to prevent this.”

“If you wanted,” Virgil added, having finally chewed all of his cookie, “you could start with something a little less detailed, like all the colored heart emojis. They might help you practice for the harder stuff.”

“I would be happy to help you experiment to find a better icing consistency.”

Logan’s offer surprised Patton. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.” He hated the thought of anyone feeling obligated to help him or spend time with him.

“I would like to assist.” Tinges of pink appeared on Logan’s cheekbones. “If you are amenable.”

Patton’s heart squeezed; he bit his lip to keep from grinning. “Well I have been told I’m amiable.”

Logan’s face pinched. “No – that’s not –” He stopped speaking when Patton laid a hand on his arm.

“I know.”

Realization lit Logan’s expression. “Ah, I see. A play on words. Because they sound similar.” Logan shared a look with Virgil before turning away, not quite hiding the amusement on his face.

“Do you wanna help too, kiddo?” Virgil’s tongue poked out to lick his lips, and the apology in his expression made Patton’s heart sink. “Nevermind,” he said quickly, trying to absolve Virgil from having to make excuses to get away from him, “You have things to do, it’s fine, I understand.”

“I’ll just… the sugar…” Logan got into the cabinets on the opposite side of the kitchen, turning his back, giving them a semblance of privacy.

“Look, Pat…” Virgil stepped closer, ducking his head slightly, trying to get Patton to look up from the floor. At first, Patton’s gaze didn’t budge, but the silence dragged on, so he finally gave in. Virgil was scraping his fingernails against the palms of his hands where they hung at his sides, and Patton was surprised to see he seemed nervous. “I – I do want to stay and help, but…” He looked over his shoulder, back up the stairs. “I’ve got to do something.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. He seemed to collapse in on himself a little. “I’ve… got someone I have to apologize to.”

Patton nodded tightly. “I understand.”

Virgil sighed and mumbled something that sounded like, “I don’t think you do.”

They stood there, neither quite looking at the other. Logan cleared his throat, then looked alarmed when they both turned to him. He quickly busied himself with opening cabinet doors seemingly at random, picking up items, and reading the labels with fascination as if they were newly unearthed ancient texts.

Virgil pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbed them. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head, getting his hair in his eyes in the process. “I… want to apologize to you too, Patton. I just… I’m not sure I’m there yet.”

“Virgil…”

“No, let me finish!” Patton winced, and Virgil grimaced, looking firmly at the floor. He lowered his voice. “If I don’t say this now, I might never say it.” A pause. “I shouldn’t have said the things I said to you, not the way I did. I was mad and I did it to hurt you and –” His voice caught, and Patton’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to him. “That wasn’t right.” Virgil looked at him a moment, then his face fell and he looked away, eyes squeezed shut. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “You did things that I – I _hated_ and they were _wrong_ and they hurt me and they hurt the others but… it doesn’t make me right either. It was a long time ago… and maybe Remus was right, maybe I repressed it and now…” He shook his head, and Patton wasn’t sure if Virgil was talking more to him or himself now.

Tears blurred Patton’s vision, but he refused to let them fall. Virgil’s words felt like daggers in his heart, but Patton knew they were well deserved. The weight of the past, of all the things he regretted, all the times he was wrong, sat heavy on his shoulders and on his heart.

“I want to talk about things, but I can’t yet.” A hand touched Patton’s hand, barely there, gone before he had time to move. He looked up to see a heart-wrenching vulnerability on Virgil’s face. “I shouldn’t have been an ass to you though.” The comment startled Patton, fracturing his composure. He was laughing and then he was crying and then he heard, “Hug?”

The question was asked quietly with a tinge of hope, and Patton couldn’t stop the wounded noise that left his mouth. _“Please.”_ But he waited, because he wouldn’t force Virgil to hug him, he _wouldn’t,_ even if Virgil had been the one to ask. The split second dragged on into an eon, agonizing to him, but then Virgil was hugging him and pulling him close. He could hear Virgil’s breathing, could feel the warmth radiating off of him. The fabric beneath his hands was soft, and Virgil felt fragile in his arms, the moment somehow monumental and sacred.

At the slightest movement, Patton let him go.

Virgil stepped away. Looked over Patton’s shoulder. “I’m gonna…” He pointed behind him, up the stairs.

“Thanks for looking at the cookies.” His voice sounded off, even to himself.

A weird noise came out of Virgil’s mouth, like he started to say something and shut his mouth but kept speaking anyway. He turned and quickly made his way out of the room.

Patton could feel Logan’s presence at his side. He turned, with wide terrified eyes to look at Logan for verification. “Were those…?”

“Handprints,” Logan confirmed.

When Virgil had turned to leave, they had seen two white outlines of hands on his back.

“Oh gosh,” Patton murmured, raising his hands to show Logan. They were covered in flour or powdered sugar or (most likely) a mix of both. “I think it was me.”

* * *

Pressure was building in Virgil’s lungs as he walked towards Roman’s room, but he was pointedly ignoring it. It didn’t help any to ignore it, but focusing on it might make him turn tail and run back to his room to hide. So he ignored it and resolutely kept walking down the hallway, feeling a bit like he was walking to his death.

A shriek floated out from under Roman’s door, followed by laughter and warbled voices. If he hadn’t just left Patton downstairs with Logan and the cookies, he would have guessed it was Patton in Roman’s room based on the delighted shrieks.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door, not surprised when he didn’t hear a response from inside. He hadn’t knocked very loudly, and the ruckus from the other side of the door was quite loud. Cautiously, turned the handle and toed the door open, surprised to see Roman laying on the floor on his back, struggling to shove Remus off of him. They appeared to be wrestling.

Roman noticed him first, eyes going wide as the good humor slipped from his face. Seeing the shift in Roman’s expression, Remus froze and looked over his shoulder, and Virgil gave him a little nod. Remus smiled and then let go of Roman’s arms, sitting back slightly, so he wasn’t leaning over him. He didn’t go far though, settling himself on Roman’s torso.

“Oof.” Roman glared up at Remus. “You’re heavy,” he whined, uselessly pushing at Remus’s side, trying to topple him over. “Get off.”

“Get good.” Remus looked down his nose at Roman unsympathetically. “Then I won’t be able to sit on you.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, fighting the urge to chicken out and leave. “Uh, Roman? Could I, uh, talk to you?”

Remus arched an eyebrow and Virgil nodded once in response. He was doing this.

Remus stood up, making sure to unnecessarily brace a hand on Roman’s face as he did. Roman kicked at Remus’s legs, nearly making him fall over, but Remus only pulled a face and Roman stuck his tongue out.

Internally, Virgil facepalmed at the twins. Surviving either of their antics _alone_ was bad enough – trying to survive _both_ of them would be a nightmare.

“I’ll be back later,” Remus said, throwing a knife at Roman. (Virgil’s heart rate picked up upon seeing the knife. _Where did he even get that? And why?)_ Roman waved a hand and it burst into flower petals that fell harmlessly around him.

“You don’t have to leave,” Virgil stopped Remus. Remus looked surprised, and Virgil shrugged a shoulder self-consciously. “You know what I’m gonna say anyway,” he mumbled. (And if just maybe he felt a little better having Remus there in the room, well, that was no one’s business but his own.)

Remus walked over to Roman’s bed, sprawling out across the comforter. “You might wanna stand up for this,” he told Roman in a low voice.

Roman glanced at Remus and then at Virgil. He stood up and crossed his arms, pushing the flower petals on the floor around with his foot. He didn’t look _angry_ exactly… but there was some kind of emotion in his face that set Virgil’s nerves on edge.

“Princey…” he sighed and started again. “Roman. Look. I – I’m sorry.”

Roman’s gaze snapped up from the floor, pinning Virgil in place. _“You’re_ sorry?”

He reluctantly nodded.

Roman was frowning. Virgil wasn’t sure what reaction he expected or wanted, but he didn’t think it was that. Roman stumbled over a few syllables, before stammering out, _“Why?”_

Virgil looked helplessly to Remus, who was staring up at the ceiling and mouthing something to himself, as if listening to inaudible music. He turned back to Roman, who seemed genuinely confused. _This is so painful._ “Uhh…” He desperately tried to remember how apologies were supposed to go. Was he supposed to give a list of his crimes? Would it hurt Roman’s feelings to bring those things up? Should he try and explain himself, or would that only sound like he was making excuses?

Thankfully, Roman took pity on him. “I feel like _I_ should be the one apologizing to _you.”_

He smiled a little at that, feeling a tiny bit more at ease now that he understood what Roman was acting weird about. “Hey, I won’t stop you. But uh,” he shrugged, guilt and regret eating at the edges of his conscience, “I still think I need to apologize.”

“For what?”

Virgil’s face winced without consulting him. That was bad. He was pretty certain he wasn’t supposed to wince when he gave an apology. He rubbed the back of his neck again, belatedly realizing he was letting his nerves show. “I’ve kinda… been blaming you… for, well, everything. And that’s not fair.”

Roman flinched when Virgil said the word _fair._ Virgil had no idea what to make of that. He raised a hand in an aborted gesture, not really knowing what he meant to do in the first place. What was the proper apology protocol? A handshake? A touch on the shoulder? A hug? Not knowing what else to do, he started trying to explain himself. “Look. Remus told me I was being an ass to you, and he was right. You’ve done some pretty shit things, but it’s not fair for me to hate you and be angry with you to avoid… other… feelings. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Oh.” Roman started to say something and then stopped. He seemed to think for a long moment. “Thanks. For apologizing. I, uh… I’m sorry about the ‘shit things’ I’ve done.”

“Language,” Remus chimed from the bed. He had his arms folded under his head, still staring up at the ceiling as if it held the secrets of the universe. Maybe it did, for Remus.

“Virgil started it,” Roman protested.

Remus lifted a leg in a way that somehow looked like a lazy uninterested gesture. “Virgil’s different.”

Roman looked back to him, searching for a reaction. Virgil just smirked.

Then the awkwardness was back. Neither of them seemed able to look the other in the eye. He waited for Roman to do something, anything, because he had no idea what he was doing. But Roman was either unwilling or incapable of breaking the silence, so Virgil finally managed to string some words together, lest they be stuck there forever in anticipation of the end of the conversation.

“Soooo. Are we good?” The word felt wrong the moment he said it, so Virgil hastily tried to correct himself, “Ah, better? Okay? Are we fine?”

“We’re alright.”

Huh. Somehow he expected all this to be much more difficult. Maybe some fighting, some arguing, some insults. But more than anything it was just… uncomfortable. “We’re alright?” he repeated, unsure. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Virgil awkwardly nodded. He had no idea what to do now and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Bro hug?”

“I don’t – that isn’t –” Roman was already walking towards him, holding out a hand, so Virgil helplessly held out his own hand. Roman grabbed onto him and pulled him closer and slung his other arm around Virgil, clapping him on the back. “– necessary – ugh okay –”

When Roman released him, Virgil stepped back, his mind already adding the last ten minutes to play on repeat for the next two years every night before he went to sleep so he could overthink and regret everything. No sooner had he taken a step back, Roman grabbed him around the waist, picking him up and swinging him around in a circle.

Virgil would later deny making any kind of scared, high-pitched noise.

He worriedly clutched at Roman’s shoulders, demanding to be put down. After Roman spun him around twice, he set Virgil back on his feet, still holding him within the band of his arms. He squeezed Virgil tight, warm and solid and _comforting._ A hug. Then he let Virgil go.

For a second, Virgil saw the radiant smile on Roman’s face, but it was quickly too much for him, so he looked away, face burning. “Um. Good. So I’m… uh…” He stood there for a second, completely blank on the outside, all panic on the inside, before turning on his heel. He didn’t run out, but it was a near thing.

Just outside Roman’s door, he pressed his back to the wall, looking up and taking deep, shaky breaths.

He heard chuckles and then Remus’s voice. “Aww, isn’t he adorable?”

Virgil was going to kill him.

Then Roman, softer, sounding relieved and grateful, “Thanks, Remus.”

(And then again, maybe he could wait on Remus’s murder.)

* * *

They had disappeared into the Imagination the rest of the day, Remus and Roman. They started in Roman’s castle. At first, they were going to go on a quest, but then they couldn’t decide on what monster to fight. While they were arguing about it and looking through Roman’s chests for armor, they happened to find several things they hadn’t seen in a long time. An enchanted boomerang led to a decade-old map that led to a cursed necklace that neither could actually remember how or why it was cursed, only that it was. By the time they found the longbow Remus had made specifically to miss every shot taken, there was no hope of them ever refocusing enough to go on a quest.

They spent the day looking through memories and critiquing each other’s architecture (Roman’s castle and Remus’s fortress) and skipping rocks across the lake and wandering through the hillside and forests. 

They did everything and nothing and, although it _could_ have had more violence, Remus thought all in all it was a great day. They did whatever they wanted, whatever seemed like a good idea, and that was all Remus really wanted anyway.

Sometimes he thought Roman got caught up too much in planning things out and striving for perfection. In Remus’s own oh so humble opinion, living in the moment and being spontaneous was far more fun.

But that was the difference between them. (Or one of the differences, anyway.)

It had been long after dark when they had finally trudged in from the Imagination and collapsed on the floor of Roman’s room. Roman had summoned blankets and threw a pillow at Remus’s head, and that was all. They didn’t say anything about it, they just laid their blankets out parallel to each other on the floor and passed out.

They spent most of the next morning having a sketching competition. Remus was happy to report that while Roman beat him at human portraits, he destroyed Roman at pretty much every other category.

When there was a knock on Roman’s door, Remus didn’t initially pay it any mind, continuing to work on his fashion redesign for Roman (which Roman was less than thrilled about). But when the door swung open to reveal Patton, and when he wanted to speak not only to Roman but Remus as well, then he started to get a little antsy.

“What can you want from me, I wonder.” Remus pointedly looked Patton up and down, throwing in a wink for good measure. When Patton shrunk back in discomfort, he smiled darkly, amused.

But instead of turning tail and running, Patton took a deep breath and tilted his chin up, saying, “I really need to speak to you both. It’s important.”

“Yeah, of course, Padre. Whatever you need.” Roman’s eyebrows scrunched, confusion warring with a reassuring smile that he wore for Patton’s sake.

Patton pointed over his shoulder, looking miserable. “We can talk downstairs.” He turned and started down the hallway then, and something about the way he moved reminded Remus of a pirate being forced to walk the plank.

Roman briefly looked at Remus from the corner of his eyes, silently asking, _what’s going on?_

Remus gave a blank look and shrugged.

“Uh, Patton?” Roman called as they hurried to catch up with him down the hallway. Patton didn’t say anything, and Roman pressed, “Why are we going downstairs?”

As they started to descend the stairs, the answer became evident. Logan was sitting in the armchair, watching them. Janus was sitting on one end of the sofa with Virgil next to him. Remus saw that Virgil was holding Janus’s hand in a death grip, but Janus caught his gaze and shook his head the tiniest bit. Remus said nothing.

“…Patton?” Roman looked in askance to the side in question even as Remus put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the sofa.

As Virgil gave him a tight smile, Remus noted that the eyeshadow under his eyes was darker than normal. That wasn’t a good sign. He leaned over, murmuring, “I would commit murder for you.”

Strangled laughter fizzled out of Virgil’s throat and died somewhere in the air between them.

Patton was still standing. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I gathered you here.”

Remus chuckled, a touch hysteric with restless nervous energy. After Roman elbowed him, _hard,_ he realized Patton hadn’t meant it as a joke. He met Janus’s gaze only to receive an eye roll. “My bad,” he muttered under his breath.

Patton looked at Virgil, and something passed between them. Patton cleared his throat. “Virgil wanted to speak to me about some things, and I thought it would be best if you were all here for this.”

“Does Virgil want to talk to _us_ or to _you?”_ His question came out sharper than he originally intended, but he really wasn’t too worried about it.

Patton’s eyes widened, but Virgil was the one to answer.

 _“Patton_ wants to talk to _me,”_ Virgil corrected, speaking to Remus, although everyone else was listening. “He asked if it was alright to do it now. I said yes. But it’s his thing. He wants to talk to everyone.”

Remus nodded and sat back against the sofa.

“I want to talk about… some things I’m not proud of. I need to apologize to Virgil and to you two.” Patton looked between Roman and Remus, and Remus knew Roman was just as startled as him. “And Deceit too.”

“I can’t help but notice,” Logan said carefully, “that I was not mentioned. Should I be here?”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Remus’s stomach.

Patton smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to be left out.” He paused. “I want to discuss things that happened… before you were here. But I think you deserve to know anyway.”

Remus abruptly stood up. “Oh fuck no, absolutely not.” He hadn’t even made it a whole step before a hand closed around his wrist. He turned back with fire in his eyes only to meet Virgil’s miserable gaze. The pieces suddenly clicked in his mind – Virgil’s anxiety wasn’t for himself, at least not fully, but instead was for _him,_ for _Remus._ He quietly accused, in disbelief, “You knew?”

Virgil pulled on his arm, and Remus fell back onto the sofa purely from surprise. “You’re the one who told me not to repress stuff.”

“Don’t quote me to me,” Remus hissed, pulling his wrist free of Virgil’s grasp. “I don’t need to – to talk about my _feelings!_ I’m not like you!” The moment the words left his mouth, he realized what he had actually said, drawing a clear line between Virgil and himself. He knew Virgil would take it the wrong way, and he could see how Virgil recoiled, drawing into himself like he had been physically struck.

But he didn’t have the patience to be bothered with that at the moment; he was too busy desperately trying to escape a conversation that he didn’t want to have about things he would rather forget. For _so long,_ they had all pretended it never happened, that a certain time had never existed. Why did that have to change _now?_

Something inside Remus snapped. It must have shown in his face, because Virgil was pushed aside by Janus, who very pointedly signed, _“Stop._ Think before you do something.”

To which Remus’s elegant response was to sign back, “Fuck you.”

“You need to –” 

Virgil covered Janus’s gloved hands with his own, effectively silencing him. He then let go to sign, “Do you trust us?”

Remus looked back and forth between them before rolling his eyes. He signed, “I’d rather die than talk to him,” he pointed at Patton without bothering to look, “about _this._ You know that.”

Janus narrowed his eyes. “Do it anyway.”

His expression turned murderous, and he glared at the floor, refusing to look at their faces or their hands, thus cutting off their conversation.

“Remus,” Virgil whispered, reaching over to gather some of the fabric of Remus’s sleeve in one of his hands. He didn’t pull or move his hand, just held onto the bunched up fabric. Virgil had done that ever since they were children; when he was scared and ran to Remus to fight off the nightmares and shadows just around the corners, he always clung to him like that. His voice was pleading, and Remus _hated_ it because he knew Virgil only wanted to help. “I think we need this. Not just you, _everyone.”_

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. _Everyone._ When the split had happened… Creativity wasn’t the only thing that split. The Mindscape itself had been torn in two, Virgil cast out alongside him.

How Virgil had ever found it in himself to forgive Patton, Remus would never know.

He looked back at Virgil, who was waiting, expectantly, the tension in his shoulders betraying just how much he dreaded having the conversation as well. Remus sighed, knowing he had already made up his mind, had already made it up the second that Virgil grabbed his hand and Remus hadn’t pulled himself free and fled.

“Okay,” he nodded, barely breathing the words. “Alright.” A wave of sympathy washed over him, remembering the conversation he had earlier with Virgil about Roman, trying to convince him to talk about and confront something he would rather avoid. He smiled bitterly, thinking this must be karma.

Someone cleared their throat. When Remus looked up, Logan began to fingerspell to him, W-O-U-L-D-Y-O-U-L-I-K-E-T-O-S-I-T-H-E-R-E?

Remus blinked, his brain taking a second to process all the letters he had seen. He couldn’t help but chuckle and glance at Virgil. “You taught him that?”

Virgil looked surprised. “I – no.” They turned in sync to Janus, who was inspecting his gloves with an air of faux indifference.

Janus met their gazes with a challenge in his eyes, daring them to say something.

Virgil pressed his lips together and snorted. Remus tilted his head back and laughed aloud.

“Hey, what! I don’t want to be left out!” Roman petulantly crossed his arms and pouted. Remus reached over to pat him on the shoulder, which did not make his expression change in the slightest. Roman demanded, “Someone has to teach me to sign when this is over.”

“Are we? Doing this?” Patton asked hesitantly, eyes nervously switching between Remus and then Virgil, as if he wasn’t sure if he should look at Remus or not.

Remus looked to Roman, who gave him a helpless shrug. “Fine,” he muttered, already regretting his decision. “Whatever.” When no one said anything more, he grumbled, “Get on with it already.”

“I want to talk about… the split.” Patton nervously laced and unlaced his fingers in front of himself. “I never meant to separate you two. I just… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“And when you sent me away?” Virgil’s expression gave nothing away, but Remus could see the hurt concealed just beneath his guarded expression and pale foundation, the anger in his clenched fists shoved into his pockets.

Remus wondered if the others had ever talked about the split, since Virgil had joined them. Or perhaps this was the first time.

Patton closed his eyes, looking pained. “I never should have done that either.”

“Excuse me,” Logan spoke up suddenly, confusion and awkward amusement warring on his face, making him look almost ill. “Is – what did –?”

Janus looked sharply at Patton and then Roman. “He doesn’t know?”

Roman slouched back against the sofa, his body angled away from everyone. “He wasn’t there yet.”

“Deceit wasn’t there either, but he knows,” Remus supplied helpfully, taking a grim pleasure in watching Patton wince.

“Patton?” Logan sat forward in his armchair, growing more distraught by the second.

Virgil clapped his hands together, the loud sudden noise starting nearly everyone. “So.” He grinned humorlessly at Logan. “I was here first. Did you know that?” Logan wordlessly shook his head. “Well, I was. Although I guess it doesn’t really count because Patton came along immediately after. We weren’t quite the same as we are now, of course. But it was us two at first. Then Creativity showed up. And things were pretty stable for a while.” He seemed to be looking at something none of the rest of them could see. “And then Patton’s job shifted a little, and he became _Morality._ He got a whole bunch of fun ideas about what’s right and good. And let’s just say Creativity didn’t quite fit into Patton’s idea of perfect.”

Logan stole glances at Patton while Virgil spoke; Patton had tears in his eyes.

“Me and Patton fought about it. You know how I am about change.” Virgil huffed out a noise that barely passed as a chuckle. “Patton tore Creativity in two: Remus and Roman. Remus got sent away, and I was sent with him. Apparently some of us deserved to be hidden away.”

“He didn’t _exactly_ force you out…” Roman spoke up, sounding more tired than Remus could remember him being in a long time.

Virgil slowly turned to look at him, serious as Remus had ever seen him. “What other choice did I have?”

Roman looked away. He didn’t say anything else, but Remus saw the guilt in his expression.

Logan blinked, then looked between Roman and Remus. His face was scrunched in confusion, all the while still sneaking glances at Patton as if he was waiting for the punchline and everyone to start laughing at his gullibility. “But – Deceit?” He shook his head, as if that could clear his thoughts. “When…?”

Janus shrugged. “From what I gather, I formed a bit after you. But I wouldn’t know exactly, would I?” At Logan’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “I formed in the _dark side,_ thanks to the one and only…” He gestured blithely to Patton.

Logan looked to Roman. “Is this true?” When Roman nodded, Logan finally addressed Patton, roughly demanding, _“Why_ would you _ever_ do that?” The emotion in his voice, the anger, the betrayal, it was all so uncharacteristic of him that at first Remus thought maybe someone else had spoken.

“I didn’t know,” Patton gasped out, tears sliding down his cheeks. “I didn’t know it would – I _never_ meant to – to hurt anyone or –” He made a choked noise, dissolving into sobs.

“We were kids,” Roman said hollowly. “And barely kids at that. He couldn’t have known…”

“It doesn’t change what happened!” Remus snapped, fixing Roman with a glare that would have killed lesser sides. “You were fine because you got to live the happy accepted life! Thomas _listened_ to you! You were important and appreciated and _loved_ –”

“You were loved,” Roman weakly shot back, staring at the floor.

Remus wanted to laugh, because it should have been Virgil or Janus saying those words. (But they didn’t because they knew that’s not how he had meant it in the first place.) _Not by you,_ he thought bitterly. _I was loved, but not by you._ He didn’t let those words escape the privacy of his mind though. There were few things he would hesitate to say or admit to, but that was one vulnerability he would never bare willingly. 

He finally responded, “Not by Thomas.” His voice cracked and died, and he felt like he had swallowed a frog. Trembling started in his fingers, and horrified, he heard himself _sniffle._ He was catching _feelings_ just spending this much time with these idiots! _Fucking hell._

He cleared his throat loudly. “Whatever. Baby Blues didn’t mean to rip us in half, so we’re supposed to move on, right? The trauma doesn’t count if he didn’t mean to cause it.” He stood up.

“Remus…”

He didn’t respond when Virgil called for him. He needed to get up the steps and into his room, into the Imagination, _anywhere_ that was as far away from the others as he could be.

A hand caught his arm and it was _Patton,_ clutching at him, begging miserably, “Remus…”

Remus easily knocked Patton’s feet out from under him and swung his arm, summoning his morning star to his hand as he did, so that the spiked end came to rest almost on Patton’s chest, hovering in the air near his chin. Terror filled Patton’s eyes.

He heard movement and looked up, surprised to see Virgil holding Roman back, Roman’s katana thrown onto the ground a few feet away. He hadn’t been thinking when he knocked Patton flat on the ground, because if he had, he would have worried Virgil would have stopped him. Of course, Roman also would have tried to stop him, and clearly _had_ tried to stop him, but Virgil’s reflexes were the fastest of them all. And Virgil had chosen to restrain Roman instead of stopping Remus.

He mentally added another tally to the count of favors he owed Virgil.

Logan slowly stood up from his armchair, but Remus turned to glower at him, letting the end of his morning star drop the remaining distance to Patton’s chest. _“Don’t.”_

Hands raised in surrender, Logan didn’t say anything or make any other movements.

Remus’s morning star shifted ever so slightly in his hand as Patton moved on the floor, and Remus leaned some of his weight onto the weapon, pinning Patton down. Patton winced, but Remus had no sympathy to give. “Move again and you’ll learn what it feels like to be torn in two.”

“Remus–”

“Don’t you get it already?” Remus cut his brother off, not in the mood to be placated. “You don’t get a say in this! You stood by and let this happen! I don’t care what you think!”

The betrayal and hurt on Roman’s face were quickly eclipsed by fury. “That’s not _fair!_ I was Creativity too!” His face contorted and Remus watched as he slowly started to cry.

_Oh._

“I’d say that’s enough, Remus, wouldn’t you?” Janus was the only one still sitting, doing a fair job at hiding his concern. But Remus could read him like an open book, so he wasn’t fooled. “Let Patton up. We can talk about this.”

Something hot ran down his cheek and he angrily wiped at it with his free hand, completely horrified at himself when he realized it was tears. “I don’t want to talk! Why can’t any of you understand that?!” He let go of his morning star, allowing it to disappear into nothing so that he could wrap his arms around himself, fingers digging into his sides, as if he could hold himself together and keep all his pieces from crumbling to dust. “I didn’t want to talk and you made me! And now you’re mad that you’ve upset me, like I’m not allowed to get tired of being told what to do! I’m not a kid!” He took a step back, scowling down at Patton. “You don’t get to fuck up my life and treat me like I’m incompetent and expect me to lay down and roll over and take it!”

Logan took a single step towards him, only to be wrapped in thorns from the waist down a second after.

Remus ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it, _hard._ “Just stop!” He took several steps backwards until he felt himself bump into the wall or the side of the stairs or _something._ “I’ll kill the next person I see,” he warned, before disappearing completely.

*

It was Virgil that found him.

Appearing over a hill, Virgil walked through the grass towards him, no hesitation in his approach. He didn’t call anything out. The moment he was within range, Remus held out his hand and conjured his morning star, swinging it towards Virgil with no warning, beyond the one he had delivered to everyone earlier. The swing didn’t land, but Virgil didn’t come any closer, staying just past arm’s reach, close enough for Remus to keep swinging at him. And he did.

Virgil was fast, but Remus was angry and well-practiced at turning things into mush with his weapon of choice. It went on until Remus grew tired, and although there had been numerous near-misses, Remus had landed a hit twice. As Remus lowered his morning star, Virgil raised an eyebrow and asked, “Done?” 

It wasn’t a condescension, but his tone didn’t hold pity either, and Remus was grateful. He nodded once and let his morning star disappear from his hand.

Virgil closed the remaining distance between them, unbothered by his injured shoulder (which was definitely going to bruise later) nor Remus’s less than welcoming demeanor nor the sweat they had worked up not-quite-fighting each other. Arms went around him, hands pressing against his back, pulling him close. A sob stuttered in Remus’s throat from nowhere.

“It’s too much,” he choked out, voice much quieter than he meant for it to be. He lifted his arms to return the hug and grabbed handfuls of Virgil’s hoodie, trying to squish himself impossibly closer.

“I know,” Virgil soothed softly. “I know.”

Remus buried his face in the space between Virgil’s shoulder and his neck and cried for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait in posting this chapter!! I got busy with life! I'll post the next chapter really soon to make up for it (assuming life doesn't get crazy again)


	7. Patton Angst

Janus was not _hiding._ He was merely... strategically avoiding the others. By staying inside his room. With the door closed. And the lights off. Making no noise. And pretending that he wasn’t there.

Despite his efforts, however, it wasn’t very long until he heard knocking outside his door. He stubbornly ignored it.

The knocking persisted. Janus exercised his patience (something he was well-versed in exercising) and waited. At last, a voice said softly, “I know you’re in there, Deceit.” There was a pause and then, “I really need your help.”

With great reluctance, Janus walked over and opened the door a bit, not making any move to turn on the lights or step back and allow his visitor inside the room.

Patton’s eyes were red and puffy, his whole face was really, and he looked ready to burst into tears at any moment. His fingers were currently fidgeting with the fabric at the bottom edge of his shirt.

Janus’s eyes narrowed. “You must be truly desperate to come to me for help.” Then he shook his head, correcting himself, “You must be truly _insane_ to think that I _would_ help.”

Patton’s bottom lip wobbled dangerously, but he sniffled and admitted, “You’re the only one I trust.”

“Oh?” He couldn’t make out any trace of lie in the words, which was immensely irritating (and confusing) and the only reason that he didn’t slam the door immediately.

“I – I don’t know what to do!” Patton dissolved into sobs halfway through the sentence but rubbed at his eyes with no small amount of frustration and managed to force himself to become slightly less… watery. “I know I can’t – can’t duck out, but I – I don’t want to keep hurting people!”

Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his mask of indifference. His traitorous heart squeezed uncomfortably.

“I shouldn’t be around the others and – and I don’t – deserve –”

“That’s enough,” Janus cut him off, opening the door more and taking a step forward.

Patton’s expression quivered, something like fear briefly there. (Whenever Janus imagined Patton being made to feel like he felt, like Remus felt, like Virgil felt, somehow he always thought it would make him feel vindicated. But he found that he felt only a bone-deep tiredness.) Patton took half a step back. “Just – tell me what to do.” His eyes frantically searched Janus’s face, for what Janus couldn’t say. “Please, I’ll do _anything_ to fix this.”

When Janus touched his shoulder, Patton flinched.

“Don’t insult me by assuming I would intentionally hurt you,” Janus said smoothly, knowing it was the only way to get through to Patton in his current state. “Surely you’ve learned better than that by now.”

That was all it took for Patton to give a tiny nod, refusing to make eye contact anymore, and dissolve into tears.

He gently led Patton into his room, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. Before he could suggest anything else, Patton curled up in a corner, making one of the most pitiful sights that Janus had ever seen. With an internal sigh, he lowered himself onto the floor next to him, not touching, but offering his presence as Patton continued to silently cry.

He didn’t realize he had decided to speak until words were leaving his mouth. “Virgil adores you, you know.” He hummed at Patton’s unintelligible noises of protest and carried on, “He hides it well, but he thinks the world of you.” Janus turned his hand over, picking at a loose thread along the opening of his glove. “I’m a little jealous,” he admitted, surprising even himself with the confession. “He used to be that way with me.”

Patton tried to say something, but Janus shushed him, and Patton quickly gave up, not really in any state to do anything but sniffle anyways.

“I think we’re all jealous of you, in some way.” He bitterly chuckled. “Oh, your sins were…” _The worst._ But he didn’t say that, knowing it would only set Patton off again and further upset him. He shook his head, letting the rest go unfinished. “But it was long enough ago that I think they… they don’t _forget,_ but they don’t think of it, unless it’s brought up. It’s a deep wound, but not a fresh one. And with all the other, more recent things to worry about…” He shrugged. “I think it’s easy to forget that you’re not perfect.”

Patton made a hurt noise.

It wasn’t quite what Janus was trying to say, so he tried again, trying to find the right words to explain in a way that Patton could best understand. “It’s easy to forget that you’re not made of sunshine and puns.” He turned his other hand over, inspecting the seams of the other glove, looking for more loose threads. “We all wear masks, but you wear yours so well… It’s ingenious, really, the character you’ve chosen for yourself.” He changed his voice, mimicking Patton’s cadence, saying what Patton surely wanted to protest, “It’s not a character, it’s me! It’s really who I am!” He dropped back into his own voice, slightly lower and sardonic. “That’s true, but it’s not.” Flashing a grin that revealed his fangs, he glanced briefly at Patton before turning to look forward again. “Trust me, I would know.”

Janus didn’t have anything else to say, or rather, he chose not to say any of the other things that he did have to say, so they just sat. Patton made horrible noises from his crying, and Janus internally cursed himself for not having the spine to take advantage of the situation. Had it been at a different time, a few days ago maybe, just after one of his arguments with one of the others, when his indignation and pain were still fresh and anger blinded him enough, he might have done something. But now, he couldn’t do anything but feel exhaustion weigh on his heart.

He was so tired.

Sometimes he wondered if things would ever be alright.

Patton made a few noises, and Janus’s attention was drawn to him, watching from the corner of his eyes as Patton wiped at his cheeks. He took a deep breath and sniffled some more. “You know,” he croaked out, for once almost no inflection in his voice, “I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth or not.”

Janus thought back to the things he had said, _Virgil adores you,_ and, _We’re all jealous of you,_ and, _It’s easy to forget that you’re not perfect,_ and felt a grim, hollow satisfaction.

* * *

“Lo?”

Logan shushed Patton, trying to open the door to his room without jostling Patton too much. Deceit sighed but said nothing as they half-carried Patton between them into the room. When they reached the bed, Logan grabbed a corner of the sheets and threw them towards the far side of the bed, hastily making space to put Patton. Deceit helped lay him on the bed before quickly retreating back through the doorway.

“Stay here,” he murmured to Patton before leaving him to go after Deceit. In the hallway, he called, “Deceit, wait –”

Deceit stopped and turned.

“Thank you for coming to get me.”

The edge of Deceit’s mouth quirked up in a humorless grin. “As _comfortable_ as sleeping on the floor of my room would have been, I’m sure Patton will appreciate a bed much more.” It wasn’t what Logan was thanking him for; he was thanking him for taking care of Patton, for wrapping him in a blanket and letting him curl up on his floor for as long as he had, for _not_ doing any of the numerous other things he could have done. But when he opened his mouth to say so, Deceit shook his head. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”

Logan smiled, a tiny thing. “Me? Never.”

For a moment, Logan thought Deceit might say something else, but then the moment passed.

Clearly recent events had affected him, because Logan heard himself say, “I’ve changed my mind.” Deceit blinked and waited for an explanation, and Logan cleared his throat. He didn’t _have_ to say what he meant, but somehow he felt uncomfortable with lying. “I told you previously that my intentions were not to befriend you,” he admitted, forcing himself to not reach up to adjust his tie and give away the awkwardness that he was feeling. “But I… I think you would make an excellent friend.”

Deceit’s mouth fell open but only for a second before his expression closed off into something very guarded.

Logan grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said anything. This isn’t an appropriate time, given the circumstances. Forgive me.” He could tell he had overwhelmed Deceit – he had some of the same tells as Virgil.

“I…”

“Thank you for your help. I appreciate your assistance with Patton.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “Goodnight, Deceit.” He turned away when –

“Janus.”

He stopped, a cold feeling going down his spine. He looked back to Deceit, asking quietly and calmly, “I beg your pardon?”

Deceit’s expression morphed into something like horror, and he almost yelled, “Nothing!” before abruptly fleeing down the hallway into his room.

Logan looked after him for a long moment, feeling like he ought to say something or go after him. But he knew Deceit would not appreciate that, so he mentally set the encounter aside, resolving not to bring it up unless Deceit did first.

When he walked back into his room, Patton was sitting up in bed, looking more awake than he had when Logan and Deceit were carrying him. He looked up briefly before focusing his gaze on his lap. Quietly, he asked, “Deceit came and got you?”

Logan nodded and then shut the door behind him. The click of the door latch sounded impossibly loud in the now darkened room. He walked over to the table next to his bed, carefully reaching out until he found the lamp. He pulled the switch, and the room was bathed in soft light.

Patton was twisting his fingers together in his lap, squeezing them and bending them in ways that looked like it must be painful. Logan conjured a frog plushie and silently handed it to him. He nudged Patton’s shoulder with his hand, and Patton immediately complied, moving over to the other side of the bed. Logan snapped his fingers and his normal attire was replaced with cotton pajamas, navy, with buttons down the front of his shirt. He looked to Patton, who did nothing, so Logan snapped again and Patton’s clothing changed to something fleece and soft and baby blue. He set his glasses on the table and then set Patton’s glasses next to his. After he turned the lamp off, he laid down and carefully pulled the sheets and blankets up around them both.

“I don’t know what to do,” Patton said into the darkness in a small voice.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t – I thought Deceit would tell me. I thought he would – or the others would – but he didn’t… he didn’t do anything!” Patton’s distress made his voice shrill. “Why didn’t he – why wouldn’t… after everything I did…”

There was a rustling sound, like Patton was rolling over. Logan thought he could feel the weight of a phantom stare in the darkness.

“I don’t know what to _do._ How can I fix this?”

 _I don’t think you can._ Logan caught the words before they left his mouth, knowing that they wouldn’t do the situation any good. He took a moment to carefully piece together what he wanted to say. “I don’t know that there is any action that can ‘fix’ the events that occurred in the past. There are memories and feelings that cannot be erased.”

“I know,” Patton whispered, sounding close to tears. “I know I can’t get rid of… what I did and the hurt I caused. But I thought, if they did something, maybe it would give them closure. Or make them feel better.”

 _“Did something,”_ Logan repeated the words slowly, realization dawning on him in the same way the crew of an off-course ship realizes they are headed straight for rocks. “Did something… to you?”

“Yeah,” Patton answered back miserably. “Whatever they decide, I deserve it.”

Logan wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore. “I’m sure,” he said faintly, “that it won’t come to that. I cannot imagine the others wanting to… harm you.”

“No, of course not.” The words brought momentarily relief until Patton continued, “They wouldn’t want to, because they’re good. But they need to. They have to. I’ve been bad. I _am_ bad. It’s what’s best for everyone. It’s the right thing.”

“Patton,” Logan murmured, hating the way his chest felt like a bowling ball was sitting on top of his ribs. “I think we should discuss this with the others in the morning, after you’ve slept and ate some. I think…” He tried and failed to think of a polite way to say _I think you’re having a mental breakdown,_ and settled on blindly reaching over to lay a hand on Patton’s arm. “Tomorrow, okay?”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Patton hesitantly asked, “One more question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you hate me?”

 _Oh. Oh, Patton._ “Why would I hate you?”

Patton was quiet for a while again. “You know now. The things I did.”

Logan resisted the urge to sigh, knowing Patton would misunderstand his sympathy for irritation. “I have known you for a long time. I don’t think you would do something with malice in mind.” He felt along Patton’s arm until he found his hand, gently squeezing, hoping that was the right thing to do to provide comfort. “Although you… hurt the others… and…” he trailed off, unable to find the words to explain the split of Creativity or the Mindscape in a pacifying way. Letting the sentence hang for a moment, he assumed Patton would understand the things he was trying to encompass and continued, “I have no doubt that you did what you thought was necessary. You made a mistake and it had consequences, but you were not intending to cause harm.”

Patton carefully pulled his hand from Logan’s grip. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“But do the ends justify the means?” He shook his head, and then remembered Patton couldn’t see him in the dark. “The world is more complicated than absolutes. Consequences matter, but so do intentions.” His gaze wandered around the room, despite not being able to see anything. “We’ll discuss this in the morning with the others. Please try to get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” Patton recited hollowly.

It seemed like he should provide more reassurances, but Logan fell asleep before he could think of something to say that Patton would actually accept.

* * *

“I’m really not hungry,” Patton murmured for the fourth time.

“Please eat something anyway,” Logan insisted, also for the fourth time. He was holding a plate of toast and a bowl of cereal, trying to entice Patton to choose between the two.

Patton sighed and let his head tip forward until it was resting on the cool tabletop. He heard the ceramic clinks of Logan setting the plateware onto the table and a chair scraping as Logan pulled it out to sit down.

The smell of coffee was strong and pleasant in the air. With his eyes closed, Patton could almost imagine Roman making rainbow pancakes at the stove and Logan doing a crossword puzzle across the table and Virgil sitting on the kitchen counter, still half-way asleep. But when he picked his head up and opened his eyes, he was faced with bitter reality once more – a bitter reality that _he_ had made.

Guilt turned in his stomach, and he absently reached forward to push the food away. He knew Logan had made it specifically for him, but there was no way he could bring himself to eat anything.

He heard footsteps that seemed to multiply and then an abrupt silence. When he turned in his chair, he found Virgil and Remus and Deceit all standing along the bottom of the stairs.

“Ah,” Logan said lightly, glancing at his wristwatch. “How prompt of you.”

Patton scanned their faces, looking past the confusion and outrage on Virgil and Remus’s faces to the cool indifference on Deceit’s.

“You set this up?” Remus accused Deceit, looking like he wanted to throw a punch.

“This is for your own good,” Deceit muttered, using a gloved hand to push at the small of Remus’s back, sending him stumbling forward a step. “Sit down.”

“Why do we always have to talk about things,” Virgil grumbled, his voice rough in a way that sounded like he had woken (or perhaps been woken) very recently. “Is it not enough to simply repress and pretend?”

Remus did throw a punch then, although it just barely clipped Virgil’s jaw. Virgil had dodged to the right, although from the look on his face, it didn’t seem like he had done it consciously. Virgil stood blinking and frowning, and then after a second said, surprised, “You tried to _hit_ me.”

“You’re going on about _why do we have to talk about our feelings_ when it was _you_ that dragged me into it all yesterday!” Remus dropped himself down into a chair and then grabbed Virgil’s arm, yanking him down into the seat next to him. “What a fucking hypocrite.” He crossed his arms and slouched back in his chair and tipped it backwards, adding petulantly, “And I didn’t _try,_ I _did_ hit you.”

Virgil flipped him off. “You _barely_ hit me and only then because I’m still asleep.”

 _“Children,”_ Deceit said sweetly, a warning interlaced in his tone. He grinned and his fangs showed as he sat on the other side of Remus.

“Fuck off,” Remus and Virgil intoned at the same time. They then immediately turned to give each other twin scowls.

“If you’re done…” Logan announced dryly, pulling their attention back to him and Patton.

Virgil pulled out a mug from somewhere and set it onto the table. Logan reached across and grabbed it. “Hey! That’s mine!” Virgil protested as Logan waved him off and took a drink. “I thought you were swearing off coffee!”

Logan leveled him with a deadpan look and said simply, “I was.”

Virgil folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them. “I hate it here.”

“Me too,” Remus grumbled. He sighed loudly, purely for everyone else’s benefit. “Alright then, let’s get on with it. I’m involuntarily here for my daily dose of talking about feelings and addressing shit.”

“Logan…” Patton looked miserably at him, trying to plead with his eyes that this wasn’t necessary, trying to make Logan see reason. Of all of them, he had hoped Logan would understand. Logan wasn’t affected by emotions (or so he claimed); he was driven by logic. Surely he could see that the best thing to do would be to lock Patton away somewhere that he couldn’t cause any more harm. Surely Logan would be able to come up with some kind of punishment for Patton to endure as penance for his crimes, some way to make the horrible feelings go away.

But Logan merely shook his head.

Roman rose up suddenly, collapsing into a seat without a glance at anyone else. Virgil shrieked and fell out of his chair, making Deceit and Remus snicker. Roman cast a judgmental look over the side of the table at Virgil as he climbed back up into his chair, before announcing, “For the record, I would very much like to still be asleep right now.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, and Deceit shared a look with him from across the table that seemed to say, _It’s a wonder any of them are still alive._

Patton wondered when Logan and Deceit had grown close enough to speak without words. He wondered how long they would have been friends, _could_ have been friends, if things had been different. If _he_ hadn’t divided everyone.

A terrible squeezing feeling took hold of his lungs, and he felt a bit like crying, but no tears came to his eyes. For the millionth time, he felt shame eat at his conscience, knowing he had no right to feel bad because it was _his fault._

“-ton? Patton? Hello??” Fingers snapped in front of his face.

Patton winced, looking up to see everyone staring at him. “Sorry,” he murmured, hating the way his own voice grated on his ears.

Deceit and Logan exchanged looks again. 

Logan cleared his throat. “I asked you all here because Patton came to me last night. He seems to believe… well, he thinks… because of what he did, in the past–” Logan’s fragmented phrases stopped as he took a rare moment to sort through what he wanted to say. He wasn’t normally one to be at a loss for words but… given the circumstances, Patton couldn’t blame him. Logan finally settled on saying, “I believe he’s looking for restitution.”

“Restitution?” Roman asked.

“Punishment,” Patton corrected quietly.

“Capital punishment?” Everyone froze at Remus’s words.

Patton turned to meet Remus’s unblinking stare, hating the anger and pain in his face, all the while knowing he was the cause of it. He quietly answered, “If that’s what you want.”

Remus scoffed. “You don’t mean that.”

“He means it,” Logan interjected, frowning.

Remus’s gaze flickered between the two of them before finally settling on Patton once more. “And if I want to torture you?”

Patton held his gaze, resigning himself to whatever fate Remus chose.

“And if I want to cut you in half, the way you did me? If I want you to suffer? If I want to lock you away?”

“I deserve it,” Patton whispered.

Remus’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “What are you playing at?” he demanded, leaning forward like he wanted to reach across the table and grab him.

“He thinks you should harm him – he thinks all of you should, for what he did.” Logan grimaced as everyone turned to him. “He thinks it’s for the best.”

“No,” Remus breathed the word, which was then echoed by Roman. “No, that’s insane.”

“He considered ducking out,” Deceit added quietly. “He told me so.”

“No,” Patton rushed to reassure everyone, thankful when the panic subsided slightly in their expressions. “No, I wouldn’t really duck out. I know it would hurt Thomas.”

The panic quickly reappeared on Virgil’s face. “Wait, is that…” He stopped to chew on his bottom lip for a second, and no one said anything. “Is that the _only_ reason?”

Patton nodded. “Of course I’d duck out, if I could, if it wouldn’t hurt Thomas. I know… I know that’s what’s best for everyone.”

Virgil disappeared with no warning. Sadness was etched between Deceit’s brows, and Remus had a faint look of horror. Roman softly said he would go after Virgil, and then he sunk out.

It felt a bit as if someone had poured cement into his stomach. “I’ve done something wrong again, haven’t I.” It wasn’t a question, because he knew the answer. He knew he had done something, upset Virgil and the others somehow. It was his fault, _again._ He turned to Remus and heard himself say, “You need to do something.” The words sounded far away, as if someone else had said them instead of him.

Remus shook his head _no_ but then murmured, “Alright.” He stood up from the table, but Logan stood up at the same time, one hand falling protectively on Patton’s shoulder.

 _“Logic,”_ Remus warned in a low voice.

Logan’s fingers dug into Patton’s shirt. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s fine,” Patton tried to reassure him, but Logan didn’t look down at him. He clenched his jaw.

“Into the Imagination,” Remus directed towards Patton, issuing the words like a challenge more than an invitation.

Patton stood up, pulling away from Logan, much to his distress.

“Remus…” Deceit said gently, looking for something in Remus’s expression. They looked at each other for several moments before Deceit sighed and turned away.

Remus started to walk towards the stairs, and Patton followed him. Logan tried to grab his arm and stop him, but Deceit stepped in between them.

Logan’s voice was high and bordering on hysteric. “I can’t let this happen.”

“And I can’t let you stop it.” Deceit’s tone was light, but the tension in the room was practically visible in the air. Patton didn’t see what happened as he was following Remus up the stairs, but he heard Deceit chuckle and say, “You’ll have to do better than that. I grew up with Remus and Virgil, after all.”

Patton looked over his shoulder to see Deceit holding one of Logan’s wrists, as if Logan had taken a swing at him. The idea seemed blatantly ridiculous, because Logan wasn’t the type to resort to physical violence. And yet, Patton watched him try to fight off Deceit and follow after himself and Remus. When Logan looked up, Patton caught his gaze, stopping long enough to give him a sad smile, hoping it would be enough to let Logan know that it was okay. This was what he wanted. This was what was best for everyone.

Logan abruptly sagged like a puppet with its strings cut; Deceit carefully held him upright.

Patton took solace in the fact that Logan would have someone to look after him when he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the beginning of this chapter is a Harry Potter reference.
> 
>  _You must be truly desperate to come to me for help,_ is from a m*rvel movie, god help me.


	8. It Hurts But It's Beautiful

Patton dutifully followed him the whole way to his room, and when Remus opened the door to the Imagination, Patton didn’t hesitate to walk over the threshold.

It was _supposed_ to be fun; it was supposed to make him feel _better._ But with how resigned Patton was, with his complete lack of reaction to anything… Remus only felt worse. And he didn’t think that was possible.

Remus led them through the tar pits – Patton didn’t complain when he could barely move. He didn’t complain about the tar that stuck to his clothing from the knees down. He didn’t complain about the squelching sounds his shoes made when he walked.

Remus took them the long way through the field of flowers he was experimenting with – Patton didn’t complain when the roots of the flowers wrapped around his ankles and tripped him again and again. He didn’t mention the dirt and leaves and grass sticking to the tar on him. Every time he sneezed from the pollen, he quietly murmured, “Excuse me,” and that was all.

Remus directed them to a cave, and it was the only time Patton faltered. He took one long look at the numerous nightcrawlers and worms and grubs on the ground and on the walls of the cave, and then frowned and kept going. It was dark, but Remus could see. Patton, it seemed, could not see, because he stumbled and fell several times. He never made a noise, except to shriek once when he walked through a spiderweb.

The longer they walked, the worse Remus felt.

Eventually he stopped taking them on detours and led them straight to the fortress. The smog and smoke was especially thick at the moment, making the torches along the exterior that burned with green fire all the more menacing with the way the light filtered through the polluted air. The water in the trench below was pitch black, ripples spreading sporadically, hinting at what lurked just under the surface.

At the doors, Remus made a show of prying them open, acting as if they were terribly heavy and difficult to move. After they crossed into the fortress, he locked the doors with a heavy chain. He turned to look at Patton, hoping to see some hint of terror or panic, some reaction, something to stop the nightmare of complete apathy, but a glint of red caught his attention.

One of the palms of Patton’s hands was bleeding and quite profusely at that.

“What’s this?” Remus demanded, feeling a spike of worry. For a moment, he was tempted to look over his shoulder and make sure Virgil wasn’t standing just behind him.

Patton barely blinked. He looked down at his hand for a moment and touched a finger to his palm. Remus noticed his other palm was also scraped, as was his elbow. Patton looked up at him, eyes and expression empty and waiting, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“What happened?”

“I fell.”

 _He fell._ Remus tried to think when he would have fallen, tried to think why Patton hadn’t said anything. 

But he knew why.

He sighed.

“Alright, come on.” He turned on his heels, not waiting to see if Patton would follow – after their completely fruitless trek to the fortress, he knew Patton would. At this point, Patton would probably follow him right over the edge of a cliff. Or right into a volcano. Or right out of an airplane. Or onto a –

_Focus._

Remus snapped his fingers and all the skeletons, the oozing walls, the bloodied weapons, everything he had conjured specifically for Patton’s benefit disappeared. He hesitated, but after a moment, waved a hand, even going so far as to dismiss all the cobwebs from the fortress.

_This doesn’t mean anything._

He could almost feel Virgil knowingly smirking at him. He could practically hear Janus ask, _Getting soft now?_

“I’ll steal your bones,” he shot back to the version of Janus that lived in his head. Suddenly remembering Patton, he looked over his shoulder, only to be met with a stare of indifference. He wasn’t sure if Patton had even heard him.

They went up and down staircases, through several rooms, and finally ended up in one of the rooms that Virgil had created. It was effectively a med center. Virgil had sat him down on the cold, white table and stitched him back together more times than Remus could count. 

Remus led Patton into the center of the room, expecting Patton to sit on the examination table. Patton did not sit on the table. Patton stood in the center of the room, not really staring at anything – he might have been waiting.

Remus sighed, cursing everything he could think of, and grabbed Patton around the middle and lifted him up, depositing him on the table.

Patton blinked back at him with wide eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

Remus was horrified to find that he preferred Patton’s bubbly chatterings about nothing at all to the deafening silence that had overtaken him.

He went to the cabinets, searching through all of them before he found some gauze. There were far too many syringes and vials with labels that sounded like someone smashed some element names together. There was tubing for blood transfusions and enough gowns and hazmat suits and respirators to look like they stocked the Child Detection Agency from Monsters Inc. How Virgil ever managed to find anything, he had no idea. Fortunately, however, he only had to open two drawers before he found some medical tape and scissors.

He brought it all back in his arms, haphazardly dropping it onto the table next to Patton. “Hand,” he demanded, holding his own hand out.

Patton held out his arm wordlessly.

 _Such trust,_ Remus thought sourly, before remembering that _actually_ Patton didn’t trust him in the slightest. Patton _expected_ him to hurt him.

Remus resisted the very strong urge to pull Patton out of the Imagination and be done with the whole endeavor. He thought all of this would make him feel better, not _worse._

He slowly started to wind the gauze around Patton’s hand, crisscrossing around his thumb so it would stay in place. Absently, he started to sing the lyrics to [Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uX3Gw82f6GU) under his breath – it’s what Virgil did every time he patched Remus up. 

He cut a piece of medical tape to secure the gauze. “Other hand.”

Patton looked a bit confused but offered his other hand up to Remus, not saying a word.

Remus wrapped his other hand and his elbow. He stood there for a moment, not really knowing what to do. Patton hadn’t moved the whole time.

He hopped up on the examination table next to Patton. The room felt cold.

Patton glanced sideways at him. “What now?”

Remus shrugged. “I was thinking about drinking some laundry detergent. Or eating some molten glass.” From the horrible crushing feeling he had (and it only seemed to be growing), he knew he couldn’t keep Patton in the fortress. He couldn’t do any of the things he had thought about doing. They wouldn’t fix anything, and he was starting to think they would actually make things even worse. 

He _hated_ the light sides.

He grumbled, just under his breath, “Maybe set myself on fire or remove my internal organs.”

Patton gave him a sharp look of concern, but Remus waved a hand dismissively.

“I guess the tour is basically over now. I’m sure you agree that my side is far superior to Roman’s.” He jumped down off the table and took a few steps away, pointedly facing the opposite direction of Patton. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Patton still stubbornly refused to say anything or do anything. No fighting back, no pleading, no explanations, no crying. Nothing.

It wasn’t what Remus wanted. It wasn’t what was _supposed_ to happen.

None of this was supposed to happen.

He let his shoulders slump. “You’re free to go.”

Silence. There were footsteps, slow and hesitant, and then, “...Remus?”

“I said you can go,” Remus snarled, turning around, hand raised, summoning a scalpel – the first weapon he could think of.

Patton reached into one of his pockets and carefully pulled out a baby blue handkerchief. He held it out to Remus with an achingly pained look, and Remus belated realized he was crying. _Yet again._

The scalpel fell to the ground with a jarring metallic sound, and Remus held the handkerchief in his hands as if it was a baby.

Patton raised a hand, hesitating for a long time, before taking another step forward. And then Patton hugged him.

It was too warm and too much and too tight and too long and Remus hated it. When Patton let go, Remus did _not_ make a distressed noise.

Patton gently pulled the handkerchief from Remus’s hands and wiped at his face before tucking the handkerchief into one of Remus’s pockets with a whispered, “In case you need it again.”

Remus’s head swam with too many emotions all at once. He croaked out, “I think I hate you.”

Patton laughed. It started as a bitter chuckle and dissolved into full-blown hysterics, tears rolling down his cheeks as he doubled over, struggling to breathe. “I know,” he gasped out, catching Remus’s gaze and abruptly falling solemn again. “I know,” he repeated.

Remus hugged Patton then, because he wanted the comfort and he had no qualms demanding it from Patton. And really, wasn’t it the least Patton owed him? _(Stop justifying it. Don’t think about it.)_

“Oh,” Patton breathed, gently bringing his arms up to return Remus’s embrace. He started tracing little patterns into the space between Remus’s shoulder blades, and Remus had to try very hard not to start crying again. 

“I thought this would fix things.”

“I know,” Patton murmured, “I hoped it would too. But someone very smart told me sometimes you can’t do anything to fix something. You can’t erase memories or feelings. I think… I think maybe it takes time. Time and new memories and new feelings.” Wet laughter bubbled out of him. “I really hope so anyway.”

Remus let Patton go, fiddling with his sash, not quite making eye contact.

“I really am sorry, about everything.” Patton waited until Remus was looking at him to continue. “I really didn’t know what would happen when – when –” His lower lip trembled but he soldiered on, “I _never_ would have done it if I’d known.”

The door was suddenly thrown open, startling Patton, who screamed. Remus lazily summoned his morning star, holding it in front of Patton.

Roman, followed by Logan, entered the room. Roman had his katana in his hand, and Remus idly wondered how long Roman had been holding it: did he start just outside the door? or when he snuck into the fortress? or did he unsheathe it when he entered the Imagination?

“Unhand him!”

Logan put a steadying hand on Roman’s shoulder, but turned a sharp glare on Remus and accused, “What happened to Patton?”

Roman seemed to notice the bandages on Patton for the first time. “Are you alright?”

“Just a scrape.” Patton offered a smile and a wave to his friends. “Remus patched me up.”

Roman arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “Why didn’t he just heal you?”

“Oh.” Remus nodded seriously, having completely forgotten (after all, there was a reason Virgil patched him up). “Right. We can do that. That is a thing that we can do. That I can do.” He snapped his fingers, and the bandages unwound from Patton’s injuries, disappearing into the air before they reached the ground, revealing unmarred skin.

“Thanks.”

Remus let his morning star disappear and mumbled, “Whatever,” suddenly experiencing a very rare moment of discomfort. To alleviate the feeling, he called out, “Alright Deceit, come out, come out wherever you are.”

Janus appeared out of thin air right where Remus knew he was, leaning his weight more on his back leg, staring unamused at Remus as if he had always been standing there.

Roman stumbled on nothing at all, and Patton rushed over to him, as if expecting him to start bleeding out at any moment. Roman waved off Patton’s concern, while Logan questioned Janus, “You were following them?”

“Seems I wasn’t the only one,” Janus answered, pointedly looking Roman up and down.

Roman bristled, “I had to make sure nothing happened to Patton!”

“I thought you went after _Virgil.”_

Roman had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m… sure he’s okay?”

“Indeed,” Janus said with an eye roll, “You sound _completely_ sure.”

“Wait,” Logan interrupted them, looking at Remus, “How did you know Deceit was there?”

Remus smirked. “Same way I knew you and Prince Chivalry over there have been following us since we left the cave.”

“There’s no way you knew that,” Roman protested.

Remus just offered him a cheeky grin, much to Roman’s frustration. Then he turned to Janus, pointing a finger at him, “The real question is why _you_ followed me. In the kitchen, you acted like you had such faith in me.”

“That’s true,” Logan added on, narrowing his eyes and turning to Janus with no small amount of accusation. “You tried to dissuade me when I was concerned.”

“I – well,” Janus’s fangs briefly dug into his bottom lip. “I think the _real_ real question is where is Virgil?” He flicked his gaze to Roman. “After all, _someone_ left him alone.”

“That’s true,” Patton murmured. “Was he okay? When you left him? He seemed upset. I’ve been worried.”

“Careful,” Remus warned in a sing-song voice. “He’s always listening.” The others blinked at him, uncomprehending. He sighed and added dryly, “He also happens to be lurking around here.”

Immediately Patton, Roman, and Logan started turning in circles, scanning the room for Virgil.

“Amateurs,” Janus scoffed, shaking his head.

Remus nodded sagely in agreement, admitting, “Even I don’t know where he is.”

After a second, Roman apparently abandoned his venture to hunt for Virgil in the shadows of the room and demanded, “You’ve got to tell me how that works. I _need_ to know.”

“Why? So you can track me when I’m in your half?” Remus snorted. “Absolutely not.”

The room was briefly plunged into darkness, and then the torches flickered back to life.

“Was that –?” Roman and Remus exchanged glances. “Did you –?”

Something brushed Remus’s arm, and he turned to see Virgil step out from directly behind him. Remus was not ashamed to admit that he yelled. Loudly. (Patton scolded him for his word choice.)

“Drama queen,” Janus muttered, and Virgil responded with a rather rude gesture.

“Where were you?” Roman demanded.

“Cabinet.”

“No way!” Remus shook his head. “I checked all those looking for gauze earlier. No way you were in one of them.”

Logan’s face pinched into a frown. “Do you physically fit inside a cabinet?”

Patton shyly waved at Virgil, who tipped his head in acknowledgement.

“I was in the cabinet, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Remus turned to Janus expectantly, and Janus only shrugged in bemusement. “It’s the truth.”

Virgil smirked. “Now that we’ve settled that, Patton should meet Marco.”

“Wait wait wait.” Roman held up his hands, his words stopping everyone from walking towards the door. “So y’all are good? No more weird threats of torture? No more wanting to self-sacrifice?” He looked back and forth between Patton and Remus.

Patton didn’t say anything, just ducked his head and glanced up at Remus.

“Alright,” Remus said, making a sweeping gesture, “Here’s the deal.” He stuck his hand out towards Patton. “You work with me on a hundred experiments and we’re even.”

Patton grabbed his hand and shook it before anyone could stop him. “Deal.”

Roman, Janus, and Virgil all groaned in unison.

“What?”

Roman just clapped a hand on Patton’s shoulder and looked at him sadly. “It’s been nice knowing you.”

“I’ll write up a eulogy,” Virgil added seriously, and Janus simply shook his head.

“What?” Logan looked between Remus and Roman in frustration. “I don’t understand. What is happening?”

“Have I ever told you about the genetically modified monsters experiment that I was accidentally part of?” When Logan said _no,_ Janus inclined his head, leading Logan out of the room. He put up a hand in front of them both as they walked, explaining, “Imagine if you were transformed into a dragon…”

Patton was fiddling with the ends of his cardigan. “...Should I be worried?”

“Yes.” Roman’s blunt answer did not help matters, but the arm he slung over Patton’s shoulders did. “Don’t worry about it for now though. You _have_ to meet Marco.”

“Marco?”

“Remus’s pet. One of them. I thought he was a dog but he’s really a fox.” Roman shook his head and started walking. “You have to hear the story behind the name, I swear Remus made it so complicated. It started when he was eating watermelon…”

The story echoed and faded as the two walked down the hallway, leaving Virgil alone with Remus.

Virgil was looking at him with pity and sympathy, and Remus _hated_ it, and then suddenly he was crying _yet again._ But Virgil held out an arm and Remus let himself be held and Virgil made shushing noises and murmured song lyrics and whispered empty reassurances and said softly, “I’m so proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone is having a good end of the semester/year!! finals and semester projects are currently killing me 🙃


	9. An Ending

This is what Logan knew:

  1. Patton, Remus, and Deceit had entered the kitchen around 1:30 in the afternoon. From what he understood, it was their intention to bake a cake.
  2. Upon their disappearance into the kitchen, they had all seemed somewhat uncomfortable (in their own ways), yet had been determined to spend time together. It was part of their collective efforts to mend bridges and build new ones.
  3. During their absence, Roman, Virgil, and himself had elected to play Monopoly, and any noise that may or may not have come from the kitchen was drowned out by _numerous_ Monopoly-related arguments.
  4. Logan was going to win Monopoly.



“What is it?” Virgil demanded with far too much glee in his voice.

“...I don’t want to say.”

“Tough. You have to. Now go.”

Roman heaved a heavy put upon sigh and then squinted at Virgil through narrowed eyes. “Tell me again how you and Logan managed to get all the pink _and_ all the yellow _and_ all the green _and_ all the blue.”

“You traded them to us, dumbass.”

“Roman, please.” Logan folded his hands, fighting down a particularly pleased feeling. “What did you roll?”

In the most pitiful voice imaginable, Roman murmured, “...a nine.”

It landed Roman squarely in the center of the properties that Logan owned.

Virgil put his head down on the table and groaned. “Noooo, why???”

Logan reached over and delicately took Roman’s remaining properties. “You are officially out of the game.”

“I don’t understand,” Roman pouted. “Why do I always lose?” He looked to Logan with a pleading expression. “Shouldn’t I win sometimes? According to math or statistics or whatever, shouldn’t it be my turn to win?”

“If winning Monopoly was a random event that could be modeled by some distribution that offered you a probability of winning, then yes, we would likely expect you to have won at least once in your existence by now. Although, it would still be statistically possible for you to have lost as frequently as you do. However, this game is not purely random. There is strategy and skill level of the players involved.”

“…Can you teach me your strategy?”

A little spark of pride kindled itself somewhere in Logan’s chest. “You want me to teach you my strategy?”

Roman nodded, and even Virgil picked his head up off the table long enough to look in Logan’s direction.

“Well… my strategy is simple.”

The other two seemed to hold their breaths and lean forward slightly, waiting for Logan to reveal the secrets of the game.

“My strategy is to be better than you.”

“Oh, fuck _off.”_ Virgil buried his head back in his arms, shoving uselessly at the board in front of him, sending a few of the plastic houses scattering across the board.

Roman shook his head, a surprised chuckle spilling out of his mouth. “I wasn’t expecting that. You got me…”

Logan carefully let the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk, winking with his left eye in the way that Remus had taught him. Roman promptly burst into astonished laughter.

“What?” Virgil’s head shot up. “What is it?” Despite his demands, Roman was unable to get any words out, and Logan kept what Remus called ‘the mischievous smirk’ plastered across his face.

“You know what?” Kicking back his chair, Virgil stood up and marched over towards the kitchen. “You guys suck. I’m going to find the others.”

“Bit of a sore loser, isn’t he?” Roman murmured, which sent the two of them into a fit of giggles.

They were seconds behind Virgil, mere heartbeats between them as they followed in his footsteps to the kitchen, but it was enough time to witness the end of a war, it seemed.

Logan was speechless to see Virgil, standing just inside the kitchen, a firework-shaped explosion of white powder now covering the right side of his face. His mouth hung open in outraged fury that was reflected in his eyes. On the other side of his gaze, Remus had one hand thrown over his mouth, clearly grinning behind his hand, a bag of flour held in his free arm.

Patton and Deceit seemed to be frozen where they had been when Virgil walked into the kitchen – Patton holding a bag of sugar, one hand inside, and Deceit holding a cookie sheet up in front of him like it was a shield.

It was deathly silent until all at once, Virgil ran at Remus, raising a hand, conjuring something that Logan couldn’t quite make out, and then he collided into Remus and they went stumbling backwards but disappeared into thin air before they could collide with the cabinets.

“What happened?” Roman barely breathed the words, and it was only then that Logan noticed the state of things. Beyond the splashes of flour and sugar covering _every_ surface (including Patton and Deceit themselves), there was something that looked like tomato sauce on the cabinets and two broken eggs on the floor. There were three mixing bowls on the counter, each with some mixture in them, and a glass bread pan was partially filled with walnuts, for some reason. There was also a half-shredded head of lettuce next to a block of cheese on a cutting board.

Logan tried and failed to put all the ingredients he could see together, struggling to think of a single dish the others could have been attempting to make. It looked like they had started at least three different baking endeavors.

Movement startled Logan, and he stepped to the side on instinct, watching in bewilderment as something went flying past him. Patton shrugged sheepishly and said, “Oops?”

Patton had thrown _sugar_ at him.

Roman grabbed his elbow and pulled him further into the kitchen, and Logan was sure he heard some of the eggshells crunch under his feet, but once Roman reached out and grabbed onto Deceit and Patton, the kitchen faded away.

Grass replaced the eggshell and tile under his feet. The food-splattered cabinets melted into open air and blue skies. Roman had pulled them into the Imagination, and shouts from nearby drew their attention to Virgil, who currently had Remus pinned on the ground.

“I am faster than you and stronger than you and all around better than you! And if you _ever_ even so much as _think_ about doing something like that again –” Virgil let out a shriek as Remus threw him off and scrambled to his feet, starting to run. Virgil was holding something – _a scythe?_ – and Remus turned around long enough to taunt, “Who’s faster now, huh?”

A blade hovering just in Logan’s line of sight tore his attention away. Roman was holding his katana leveled at him, holding a rapier in his other hand, offering the handle towards Logan. It meant Roman was holding _the blade_ of the rapier, and a strangled noise of distress clawed its way out of Logan’s throat, no matter that it didn’t seem to be hurting Roman. It was the principle of the thing. Sword safety. Honestly, did no one care about that at all?

He gingerly took the rapier, flicking it in an arc once to test the weight and balance. Roman swung at him, and Logan caught the katana with his own blade, using his momentum to press closer towards Roman.

“Patton and Deceit seem to be getting along well.” Roman glanced once towards Logan’s left, indicating where the other two were.

Logan looked over to see their roles from earlier had been reversed. No longer was Patton throwing sugar at Deceit with a cookie sheet shield – Deceit must have summoned daggers (assuming they hadn’t been hidden on his person somewhere), and Patton held up a gilded wooden shield. Both had bright smiles painted across their faces, even if Deceit’s was a little shyer.

Logan looked back to Roman, who pushed him backward in one fluid motion, stepping away to start to circle him. 

“As the kids say, prepare to ‘get wrecked’.”

* * *

Logan rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles all at once. He should have been paying more attention to how long he had been sitting at his desk. But at least now everything he had written out on his to-do list was done.

He shut his laptop with a sense of satisfaction, rolling his desk chair back slightly. Slowly, he rotated his chair, turning away from his desk to face his room, only to see that he was not alone.

“Remus?”

The side in question was sitting in the armchair next to the bookcase, some kind of notebook open in his lap. He looked up when Logan called his name and flashed him a grin.

Logan’s face scrunched. “What’s that?”

Remus tucked a pen behind his ear and snapped the notebook shut, and then it disappeared. “What’s what?”

After a moment, Logan decided not to press the issue, considering there was a high likelihood that he probably didn’t want to know anyway. Instead, he chose to focus on why Remus was in his room in the first place. “Do you require something of me?”

“I’m here to teach.”

“Teach?” He straightened up in his chair, unsure where Remus was going with the idea but interested nonetheless. “Teach what?”

Remus sat forward and folded his hands, clearly enjoying himself. “It has come to my attention that Deceit has been neglecting your signing vocabulary. I’m here to teach you to flirt.”

“Ah, I see” Logan deadpanned, suddenly much less interested. “Well, I regret to inform you that that will not be necessary.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to expand his vocabulary – after all, knowledge was knowledge. But there were some things that were more useful, more important, more practical than other things, and with his signing vocabulary already so limited, there were a plethora of other topics he would prefer to study before _flirting._

“Aw.” Remus pouted, offering a truly horrible impression of puppy dog eyes. “Don’t you wanna learn something new?”

“I would be much more interested in anatomical vocabulary.”

“But…”

“Remus…”

Remus threw his hands up in the air. _“…Fine,_ but I hope you appreciate what a sacrifice this is for me.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You’re _truly_ the most selfless person I know.”

Remus cackled at that, mumbling something about Virgil and Deceit’s influence before starting to teach Logan some signs.

When Deceit taught him, it was slow, one sign at a time, repeating the sign until Logan got it, and then running through all the signs they learned before, so Logan wouldn’t forget. It was incredibly effective.

Remus was the opposite. He started throwing sign after sign at Logan, explaining what they were as he went, pausing only long enough for Logan to repeat the sign back, stopping only if Logan messed up.

With Deceit, it was little by little, going back to refresh what he was learning after anything new. With Remus, it was everything all at once. Logan’s head swam with words and signs, trying to keep all the information straight while still following with the newest one Remus was showing him. It was overwhelming, but Logan _loved_ it.

They were both so caught up in what they were doing that they didn’t realize they had an audience until Roman asked with a note of horror, “How are you keeping up?”

Logan turned to see Roman standing in the doorway of his room.

Remus started to tease Roman about his own progress learning some signs (Logan had heard from Deceit that Roman wasn’t the best student and wasn’t taking to the language quite as well).

Logan offered for Roman to join them, but Roman declined, saying he was getting a headache just watching them. It was around that time that someone flew down the hallway, running faster than there was any cause to be running, followed closely by a shriek and then, “VIRGIL, NO!”

Whatever Roman could see from his position in the doorway, his eyes widened comically. He turned to them briefly to say, “Gotta go, Patton needs me,” before he pulled the door shut.

There was the sound of muffled thuds, people running, and several more shouts.

Logan looked to Remus. “Oh my.”

Remus wasn’t even bothering to hide his amusement. “What was _that?”_

“Knowing them…” Logan let his words trail off, and he offered Remus a shrug.

A knock at the door interrupted any further musings on what Virgil, Patton, and Roman may or may not be involved in, as Logan turned to eye the door warily. “Come in,” he called, hoping he wouldn’t come to regret the decision. Surely the others wouldn’t drag their squabbles into his room.

The door opened to reveal a frazzled Deceit, who quickly shut the door behind him. He blinked absently, before murmuring, “I think Patton and Virgil were _fighting.”_

“A fist fight?” Remus had jumped up from the armchair and was elbowing Deceit out of the way before he could start to answer the question.

Deceit glared at the door as Remus pulled it shut behind him with a bang, and then his shoulders slumped. One hand raised his hat off his head long enough for another to run his fingers through his hair. He walked over to the chair that Remus had abandoned and dropped himself into it in a sprawl.

“Patton and Virgil are having a physical altercation?”

The question seemed to confuse Deceit for a second before he waved a hand lazily, dismissing the concern. “Not really. Patton caught Virgil in a moment of low self-esteem.”

“Ah.” Something uncurled in Logan’s chest from where it had wound into a ball of tension. “I see.”

Deceit hummed in agreement. His fingers pressed into the skin and scales of his face, eyes squeezed shut, and he sighed. When his hands fell away, he blinked slowly, rolling his neck to one side and then the other.

“Deceit,” Logan started carefully, watching for any sign of him taking offense, “Are you… alright?”

Deceit looked surprised for a fleeting second before he shook his head. “Merely tired.” He didn’t elaborate more than that, and Logan knew better than to push the subject. After a pause, Deceit asked lightly, “What did Remus want?”

“He was attempting to fill in… apparent gaps, in my signing vocabulary.”

Deceit smothered a chuckle behind a gloved hand. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.” Before Logan could recount the story, Deceit sat up in the armchair, leaning forward towards him. His voice was soft and hesitant in a way it normally wasn’t when he said, “Come to think of it, there is something I’d like to teach you…?”

Logan couldn’t think of why Deceit would not simply start teaching – he had never really asked before. Deceit saw his role as a teacher less as something to be offered if it was wanted and more as an honor that should be accepted gratefully. Regardless, Logan knew Deceit’s hesitance demanded an answer, so he nodded.

“Let’s do introductions.” Deceit gave a brittle smile, like they were sharing some kind of cynical inside joke.

Deceit taught him _hello_ and _goodbye,_ which were both versions of waving. It made sense in retrospect, but upon first seeing the signs, Logan was faintly amused at the surprise he felt. 

Then they moved on to _how are you,_ and then responses: _good, bad, tired._

“Alright, this is _nice to meet you,”_ Deceit said, starting to show the sign, but Logan interrupted.

“That’s it? _Good, bad, tired?”_ He slowly signed the words as he said them. “Surely there are other options I would need to answer the question of how I am doing, if asked.”

Deceit shrugged. “Me and Virgil and Remus never use anything but those. What else would you need?”

Several possibilities sat on the tip of his tongue, but in the end, Logan decided not to voice them. Somehow he thought that conversation might end up being longer than they had time for at present. He relented, “Alright, continue.”

“Let’s run through them again.” Deceit called out a word or phrase and waited until Logan gave the corresponding sign. Besides adding the correction, _“How are you_ is typically signed faster, almost as one sign, like this,” he seemed pleased with Logan’s progress. 

“Let’s do _nice to meet you._ Do you remember _nice?”_

Logan nodded and showed him the sign.

Deceit held up his hands, making identical shapes with both hands. He held them apart and then brought them together. “This is _meet.”_ He waited for Logan to get the sign, correcting the placement of his fingers. “So all together, _nice… to meet… you.”_

He made Logan repeat the phrase a few times. Then he took a deep breath and held it. Logan started to say something, to ask what was wrong, because obviously something was, but he couldn’t quite get the words out.

“Okay, this is how you introduce yourself.” Deceit held up a hand to his chest. “My…” Then he made a sign with both hands. “Name…” He did the sign once more, slower, turning his hands to a different angle to show Logan the sign from the side. “If you have a sign for your name, then you would give that. You don’t have one yet, so you can just fingerspell your name.” His hands dropped to his lap. “Show me.”

Logan carefully signed, “My… name is… L-O-G-A-N.”

“Excellent.” Deceit smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He signed back, “Nice to meet you.” His eyes seemed to burn holes in Logan’s skin. “My name is… J-A-N-U-S.”

Logan felt his mouth fall open and promptly closed it. He blinked, belatedly realizing the reason for Deceit – _Janus’s_ odd behavior. “Again?” He signed, wanting to see the letters of Janus’s name once more, having not expected them the first time, to make sure he had the correct spelling. His request seemed to alarm Janus, however, so Logan quickly started to sign, “J… A…”

Janus quickly caught on and slowly signed the letters of his name once more, the fine tremble of his hands betraying his obvious nerves.

Logan signed back, “Nice to meet you,” and the shy, hopeful smile Janus gave him made a strange sensation squeeze around Logan’s chest and throat.

He thought, perhaps, it was what the others considered an 'emotion.'

* * *

“Remus!”

Remus threw his hands up defensively. “Logan! This isn’t on me! If Patton can’t keep control of his –”

“Nuggets! _No!”_

A blur of something zoomed through the living room, nearly knocking Logan off his feet.

Patton ran into the room a moment later, frantically searching for Nuggets.

Logan resisted the urge to dramatically flop onto the floor like Virgil did so often. “This is _your_ fault,” he hissed at Remus. “Fix it!”

The affronted look on Remus’s face made Logan’s eye twitch. Just as he thought Remus was going to argue with him, Patton tugged on Remus’s sleeve, pleading, “Help me catch them?” Logan watched Remus’s resolve crumble.

“Of course. We’ll catch them, don’t worry.”

“Oh,” Patton cried, wringing his hands, “I’d hate for something to happen to them…”

Logan swept out of the room before he could be recruited by Patton.

Upstairs, down the hallway, he heard the others in Roman’s room. He pushed the door open, quietly stepping inside.

Roman was dressed in draped fabric, his usual red sash exchanged for a mantle of the same color. A laurel wreath sat upon his head. He was watching Janus.

 **“I do not, till you practise them on me.”** Janus stood opposite of him, one hand tucked behind his back, the other pressed flat upon the table between them. He was dressed similarly to Roman.

**“You love me not.”**

Janus shook his head. **“I do not like your faults.”**

Virgil, wearing his regular clothing, was sitting with his legs folded underneath him on Roman’s desk. There was a pile of pens and papers and books that looked like they had been swept off the surface and knocked into the floor. Logan arched an eyebrow, pointedly looking at the mess, but said nothing more as he pulled out the chair of the desk and sat down.

Neither Roman nor Janus paid them any attention.

“You’ve got to hold out with me,” Virgil whispered, shoving his phone into his pocket. “They keep trying to cast me as someone or another, and they’ve got Patton and Remus in the play now too. You’re the only one left.”

Logan hummed in agreement; performing a play was not his idea of fun, although he would gladly watch the others do so. “Speaking of Patton and Remus,” he whispered back, “Those damn skeleton cats got out, _again._ Remus and Patton are downstairs now trying to catch them.”

“I knew it,” Virgil hissed. “Remus never should’ve made them for him! They got too attached to Patton, just like I said they would! And now we have to deal with a fucking prison break out of the Imagination every week.”

“Try telling Patton he can’t have them anymore.” Logan scoffed, “Remus would never get rid of them, not with how much Patton loves them.”

Virgil scoffed, and then said nothing more.

Janus was saying, **“When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.”**

 **“Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.”** Roman held out his hand, reaching out, allowing Janus to take it between his own.

**“And my heart too.”**

**“O Brutus!”**

“Oh brother,” Virgil interjected with an eye roll.

The illusion of the table and the costumes disappeared. Roman pulled away from Janus to cross his arms and glare at Virgil. “You’ve interrupted us four times already! Either join the cast and get your own lines or stop adding commentary.”

“I thought your performance was excellent,” Logan cut in, both to stop an argument and because it was true.

Roman beamed.

“Virgil?” Janus prompted. “What are your thoughts?”

“I’m embarrassed for you both, that’s how bad it was.”

Roman frowned, but Janus smiled warmly and laughed. Roman shot Janus an offended look, but Janus only nudged Roman’s shoulder in amusement and informed him, “He’s _lying.”_

When Roman turned to Virgil with a soft, surprised expression, Virgil pulled his hood up over his head and grumbled, “Okay, fine, so you don’t completely suck, big surprise. We all knew that already.” His gaze flickered over to Janus and he hissed, _“Betrayal.”_

“I _am_ Brutus, after all.” Janus gave a mock bow.

Roman grinned brightly and walked over to the desk, easily grabbing Virgil and moving him towards the center of the room to twirl him around in a circle.

“Princey!” Virgil complained, “Put me the fuck down!”

“As you wish,” Roman answered sweetly (a little too sweetly), as he stopped spinning them to squeeze Virgil into a tight hug, squishing their faces close together. “I always knew you loved me,” he teased. “Janus knows it too, don’t you? And Logan. We all do. You’re such a _sweetheart.”_

“No,” Virgil bemoaned. “I am fire! I am death!”

“You’re a _softie,”_ Janus replied dryly.

Virgil disappeared into thin air and then reappeared behind Logan, holding on to one of his shoulders, as if to use Logan as a human shield.

Roman and Janus burst into giggles.

Logan sighed and smiled just a bit, amused with their shenanigans.

There was a knock at the door, and Logan and Virgil spun around to see Remus throw the door open, Patton standing next to him, holding one very squirmy skeleton cat.

“I caught Jack!” Jack nearly escaped his grasp, and Patton readjusted, grabbing Jack more firmly around the middle. “Now we’re just missing Tuff, Mr. Bones, and Nuggets.”

“We’re in the middle of rehearsal,” Roman started to say, but Patton looked at him with wide, round eyes, silently pleading for his help.

“But we have time for you, of course,” Janus added quickly.

Virgil followed Janus out, accusing under his breath, “Who’s the softie now?”

Roman hung back with Logan, both sharing long looks.

“It was a mistake,” Logan said quietly, so they wouldn’t be overheard, “Letting Remus and Patton become friends.”

Roman nodded sagely in agreement, looking around them as if he expected Remus or Patton to be hiding in the shadows and eavesdropping. “We’ve _got_ to do something about the cats.”

“Yes, but what?”

Virgil looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Something to share with the class, Teach?”

Logan shook his head, and Roman quickly replied, “Just worried about Patton’s cats.”

Logan turned, surprised, to Roman, who looked slightly panicked.

“Uhh… I mean…”

“Guys!” Patton called from further down, sounding out of breath and fearful.

Both Logan and Roman yelled back, “Coming!” and started walking faster.

As they jogged past Virgil, who was smirking, Janus hissed, _“Softies.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stuff in bold is from _Julius Caesar_ by Shakespeare.
> 
> When Remus was in Logan’s room while Logan was working, Remus was practicing portrait sketches in his notebook (since Roman beat him at that in chapter 6). So Remus was drawing Logan while he worked (I'm a lil soft about it okay).
> 
> And yes, Patton has every single one of the others wrapped around his finger lol.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading <3


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